Conversations Among Ghosts
by Ysabet
Summary: NOT a ghost story, I repeat: NOT a ghost story! Detective Takagi decides to ask some *very* direct questions of Conan; secrets will be revealed, cars will break down, weirdness will prevail and people will (of course) get murdered.***FINISHED 2/10/03!***
1. Just the Facts

**_Conversations Among Ghosts_******

**By Ysabet**

_Chapter One:  Just the Facts_

The wind whistled shrilly across the cemetery, sending the occasional scatter of dried leaves scattering like frightened children through the crowded markers.  It was early fall, and the sweet taste of smoke in the air mingled with the first bite of chill as the last rays of the sun died the stones crimson and gold.

Detective Sato Miwako, a member of Tokyo's finest, had come to say a final goodbye to her former partner.

She stood before his marker, her sleek head bowed; twin streams of smoke rose silently from the incense burning in the holder at her feet.  Behind her still figure a small group of friends waited in silent respect, watching patiently: one young woman, one small boy and two officers, among which stood her _current partner._

Said partner watched her anxiously, running one hand through his dark hair; concern crinkled his eyes and made his rather boyish face look even younger than it was.  Had he known this he probably wouldn't have cared, not really; Detective Takagi Wataru was sincerely worried about his partner and it showed.

(He was _also most sincerely in love with her, and to hell with the regulations; __that showed too.)_

Takagi sighed, the sound blending in with the whispering of the wind through the stones.  His gaze strayed reluctantly from his partner's quiet figure, sliding lower and closer to home to rest atop the small, dark head that came to not-quite-waist level, that of one Edogawa Conan.  The boy stood silent and composed, one hand clutching that of his not-quite-guardian, Mouri Ran; the young woman looked down at the boy, her eyes softening in affection.

Takagi's eyes narrowed; what he was feeling right now for young Conan-kun wasn't exactly _affection…..  The kid made him just the slightest bit nervous, and he really hated that—_

--- especially since he kind of _liked the little guy.  Mouri-tantei's pint-sized tagalong was unusually bright, remarkably unafraid, and generally a good kid.  Or at least, that's what he had thought up 'til now._

A good _kid….._

Actually, he had to admit that what he was feeling had a great deal more of kinship to fear than anything else.  It wasn't that he was scared of a kid, no way—but _this kid… well, he wasn't exactly kid-like and he wasn't exactly normal and he wasn't exactly---_

There were a _lot of things that Takagi was finding out that little Edogawa Conan "wasn't exactly."  Like, for instance, a legally-registered citizen of Japan.  Oh, there was a birth certificate on file, all right; a __damn fine example of forgery it was, too—Takagi'd give a lot to know who had done it.  There were school records, a passport, all sorts of this and that—the minutiae that even a seven-year-old collects from birth on outwards….. and they were all perfect._

_Perfect.  Not an error, not an unreadable line or lost document or— and __that's where the unknown forger failed.  Takagi had seen it before, when a forgery 'artist' got a little too caught up in making everything nice and tidy._

It was amazing what you could find when you took the trouble to look around, you know?

From the way he figured it, _something weird had happened—oh, about a year past or maybe a little less.  For reasons unknown, a little kid had been neatly inserted into society from out of nowhere—records had been forged, an identity created, a careful coverup initiated….. not immediately, but a few weeks after the boy had appeared on the scene.  One hell of a lot of work had been done-----_

All for one short little pipsqueak of a kid.

You'd have to be _crazy  to believe something like that, of course—until you met Edogawa Conan._

Or, maybe, got trapped inside an elevator with him…..

_It was the Tokyo Bomber case, of course, the one where the guy who had killed Sato's last partner was trying to off her as well and wasn't discriminating much about having messy kills.  If he got a few more police officers, fine; if he killed a few civilians, oh well._

_They knew where he had hid the bomb—approximately where, anyway—somewhere in the Tokyo Tower.  Just where it was *exactly*….. that was another matter.  The evacuation was nearly finished when Takagi heard about the toddler stuck in the elevator, and somehow he found himself taking Conan-kun along.  Something about how maybe one kid would listen to another…..  _

To cut to the chase, the gradeschooler had talked the toddler out like a professional hostage negotiator—but he and Takagi had gotten themselves stuck in the same situation.  Embarrassing, really—not much they could do about it, though.  Takagi had felt really horrible about that; it was one thing for an officer to die in the line of duty, but a *kid*…..

_And then they had found the bomb.  Or more specifically, Conan had, after he had asked for a boost up to the roof of the elevator—he had had that *look* in his eye, the one Takagi had seen before and had begun to watch for…  The look he got when the penny dropped, when the clues began to line up, when the puzzle took shape before that discerning, unchildlike gaze….._

_No__ little kid looked like that, no matter how bright they were.  Even a seven-year-old genius was still a seven-year-old, and they would've been hopping up and down in excitement over their own discoveries.  But not this little guy—he was sa closed-mouth as somebody three times his age and ten times as cautious.  Despite Takagi's own worries (and not a little terror and regret at the prospect of being blown to smithereens), the young officer had been fascinated by the boy's composure._

_It had been weird, really; the more serious the situation had become (and hell if he could figure out anything more serious than being stuck in a metal box with a detonator on top), the more the bright-little-boy mask had sloughed away—it was disturbing how the dark blue eyes had sharpened, how precise the voice and diction had become.  Only the timbre had remained the same, that and the small, slight body; at the time, Takagi had tried to ignore it as best he could in favor of survival, but….._

_It was unnerving.  Even the body language had changed… and one thing a cop did not ignore was body language.  That was when the penny had finally dropped for him._

_Thinking back, Takagi couldn't really remember why he had begun to pay attention to all the little disparities about Edogawa Conan.  It had started a while ago, though—maybe right after that thing where Sato-kun got herself handcuffed to the suspect in the bathroom?  Whatever…..  Something about the kid's attitude just hadn't sat right with him, and he had started watching, started keeping a little mental file about the boy._

_So when Conan had asked him to boost him up onto the roof of the elevator, he had done it readily enough; and somehow, when the boy had told him quite calmly that they were—no, that HE was going to have to defuse the bomb there, Detective Takagi wasn't really as surprised as he might have been._

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Conan glanced up sideways at the tall, suited figure standing on the other side of Ran; he felt his small fingers tighten a little in her grip, causing her to glance down in concern.  "Are you all right, Conan-kun?"

_*Yeah, if you can count sweating buckets as 'all right', I guess.*  He fidgeted a little, just like any little boy might be expected to do in as solemn and scary a place as a cemetery.  "I'm okay….. Are we gonna go home soon, Ran-neechan?  I'm hungry!"  __*Let's add 'boring' to that list—a gradeschooler'd find this all pretty dull going after a while, wouldn't he?  And I wouldn't mind stopping someplace for a bite.*_

_*Of course, what'd really make me happy right now would be Takagi leaving.  I wish he'd quite STARING at me.  I am, without a doubt, in Major Deep Trouble now…  Guess he'd have to be a real idiot not to suspect something fishy about me after my little exercise in bomb-disposal in the elevator, huh?  And he's no slouch.*_

In the elevator….. Conan had had to drop all his masks and deceptions and be _himself, using every bit of intellect he had.  There had been no time for pretense, not with their lives ticking away second by second; so he had tackled the problem of the bomb as Kudo Shinichi, not a precocious little kid—it didn't matter that the hands wielding the pliers and screwdrivers had been so small that they couldn't wear gloves, or that the eyes pouring over the diagrams had been set in a seven-year-old face.  Not with their lives on the line it didn't._

So much for his innocent little 'Edogawa Conan' identity; he'd finally blown it but good. Takagi-heji had been watching him like a hawk all afternoon.

He snuck another look up at the young detective's face; Takagi had turned his gaze to Sato-san now; his rather disturbing look of speculation had softened perceptibly, becoming something much warmer.  The boy grinned to himself despite his own case of nerves—you'd have to blind, deaf _and a certified moron not to see how things were going with those two; he'd give a lot to know what had happened during the chase of the bomber to heat things up.  And things __had heated up, what with all those intriguing little side-glances that kept passing back and forth between Takagi and Sato when each one thought the other wasn't looking….._

Slightly to one side and behind them he could see Chief Inspector Magure watching the two with what could only be called a soppy look on his face; he was attempting to hide his somewhat smug expression behind his moustache, but it was pretty evident that he found the interplay between his two subordinates highly amusing.

_*Listen to me—I sound like some old biddy gossiping over a fence about my neighbors' love-lives!  But it is sort of funny.  Bet they both think they're being reeeeeeally subtle about this.*  He fought back a snicker, earning another concerned glance from Ran._

"I guess I'd better get you home, hmm?"  She smiled down at him, speaking quietly.  The boy sighed an internal sigh of relief and nodded, grateful to get away from Takagi's suspicions.  _*Works for me.  Thank you, Ran—you always come through for me, don't you?*  He shifted a little closer to 'Ran-neechan', holding onto her hand a little tighter, glad (for once) that he could act the exhausted child and just __go home._

"S'cuse me, Ran-kun?"  

_*Oh boy….. now what?*_

Detective Takagi was _*watching* him again, and this time his thoughtful eyes were fixed on Ran as well.  He smiled at her, indicating her small charge with a nod.  "Do you think I could have a little of Conan's time, Ran?  I need to clear up a few notes on what happened in the elevator—nothing much, just some details he might have noticed."  _

The young policeman spoke softly so as not to disturb his partner, but Sato-san sighed and stepped back from the marker, her eyes distant with memories.  At Takagi's concerned grimace of apology, she shook her head with a slight smile.  "It's all right—I'm ready to leave, anyway.  Conan-kun?  Would you like to ride with Detective Takagi here?  I'm sure he wouldn't mind giving you a lift home, would you, Takagi-kun?  Magure-san, Ran and I'll take the squad-car, and you two can ride back in your old clunker; that way you can catch up on those details together."  She smiled down at the small boy—

--who was currently thinking frantic, somewhat panicky thoughts designed around a major theme of _ Oh __Shit, How Do I Get Out Of This One?_

_*Crap.  Big time crap.  Better not attract any more suspicion--*  Conan put on the best smile he could manage and nodded, hoping the officers would attribute any lack of sparkle to weariness on his part—it __had been a really, really long day._

He could only hope that it wasn't about to get a hell of a lot longer.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

_*Bye, Ran; hope you don't see me next in jail or something.  Takagi's gonna ask Pointed Questions, I just know it.*  The small boy clung rather forlornly to the young woman's hand until she left with Megure and Sato; her slender figure was outlined by the setting sun as she walked through the cemetery's gates, and the teenager-turned-gradeschooler spent a moment appreciating that fact.  Then, with a sigh, he shoved his glasses up his nose with one finger, gathered his courage and turned back to his erstwhile guardian and tormenter, Detective Takagi Wataru._

_*Eeeep.*  Somehow Takagi seemed to be looming awfully tall all of a sudden…..___

_*Huh; funny, he doesn't exactly look too thrilled to be here with me either.  In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd say he looks pretty damned nervous.*  The young officer attempted a rather unsuccessful smile as he looked down at the boy; it slid a little as Conan stared solemnly up at him.  __*Maybe I can intimidate my way out of this.  Hell, if I thought throwing a tantrum would get me off the hook I might try it!  WHY does he keep looking at me like—like I'm going to grow a second head any minute?  Or batwings and glowing eyes?*_

"Well, Conan-kun….. let's head for the car.  I can ask you my questions while we drive, I guess."  Takagi hesitated, then turned away to walk towards the distant entrance to the cemetery grounds.  He glanced over his shoulder as his young charge slowly followed him, blinking in the dim light.  

"Awp!"  Arms flailing, Conan yelped as his tennishoed foot caught on a fallen stone; spinning quickly, the officer caught the boy by his arm and prevented his fall.  "Careful—don't trip; this'd be an unlucky place to hit your head at," he warned him seriously, and for a moment seemed almost to smile at the boy in earnest.

"Thanks, Takagi-san—I'll be more careful!"  The gradeschooler bent over, rubbing ruefully at his toes.  The young officer chuckled, his expression returning for a brief moment to its usual openness.

Only for a moment, though—that sharp, curious look came back over his face again as he stared back at Conan; some memory seemed to be passing before his eyes, making him grimace.  As the boy straightened Takagi Wataru seemed to steel himself, his jaw tightening a bit in resolution.  The young man's eyes dwelt on the gradeschooler's small form; then he shook his head, turning again towards the exit.

As they walked, he began to… _talk._ Detective Takagi's voice seemed a little higher than usual, a little more _controlled_ than the norm.  He sounded as if he were choosing his words carefully, working towards….. something, though his topics were commonplace, the sorts of things that an adult might chat casually about with a child.  But the boy was strongly reminded of his own methods, the ones he used when carefully trying to maneuver a murderer to convict himself by his own words.  

Conan began to sweat.  _*Uh oh…..  Where is this going?*_

"You know," said Takagi conversationally as they made their way through the maze of markers and stone shrines, "there're a lot of customs about cemeteries that most people aren't aware of…..  I took a class in college in Japanese Folk History, and we heard about all sorts of odd things like that."  He walked in front of Conan, keeping the pace on the narrow walkway slow to compensate for his charge's short legs.

And, incidentally, doing a nicely casual job of blocking the path out as well…..

Conan glanced up at the officer's back, carefully stepping over a broken marker.  "Really?  Like what, Takagi-heji?"  _*Great; he's gonna try and give a little boy shivers with ghost stories.  Very funny, Officer Takagi.*_

"Well…..  There's a tradition that you can find out who's going to die next if you wait by a cemetery on certain nights… and some of the old stories say that you can keep from getting sick for a whole year if you light incense for every shrine in a cemetery in one night.  And then there's another old tradition I've heard….. the priests say that a cemetery isn't really in this world--- it's in the next.  Sort of an annex to the Afterlife, you know?"

Conan felt his steps falter and slow as the man in front of him turned to look at him over his shoulder.  From his vantage point of scarcely more than a meter, he could see little of the policeman's face….. but what he saw was enough.  He came to a halt.

_*The Afterlife---?  What IS he talking about?*_

_*Oh…..  Oh shit.*_

Takagi-san had stopped; he stood still, looking forward now towards the cemetery gate.  "Something wrong, Conan-kun?  Something you want to talk about, maybe?"  His voice was very careful, very calm.  "Like, oh, that little _promise of yours that you made in the elevator?"_

The cemetery had grown very quiet.  The only sounds were the soft sighing of the wind and the distant calling of crows as they gathered in search of trees to sleep in for the night.  The mocking voices of the birds seemed to echo in his memory, echo the words that had been spoken while they waited for their world to end:

_"Ummm--- I have just one thing left to ask….. Who in the world are you, Conan-kun?"_

_The boy had laughed quietly, looking down from his perch beside the bomb; his eyes were strangely fearless and clear.  "If you really want to know, I'll tell you--- in the Afterlife."  He had laughed again then, a self-depreciating laugh that should never have come from a little boy._

_Who had just, by the way, managed to defuse most of a quite intricate bomb.  Right in front of Takagi._

And now there they were, standing in a lonely place that was by all accounts neither quite among the living nor the dead.  And Takagi was asking him once again:  "So; just who _are you, Edogawa Conan?"_

_*Shit, shit, shit.  He's got me dead to rights.  I said I'd tell him if we--- of course, we didn't die, and we're not in the Afterlife, but we sort of are and I *DID* promise I'd tell him…..*  _

Kudo Shinichi's mind ran little squirrel-circles in Edogawa Conan's seven-year-old head; he could feel his face paling, could feel the sweat gathering on the back of his neck.  _*I wonder if looking really pathetic and confused would work?  Nahh, he sees that all the time in suspects.  How about—no, I won't stoop to getting teary-eyed.  I've used that on Ran, but---  Ah, crap.  I *DID* promise.*_

_*And you're a good cop and an intelligent man, Takagi-heji; if I have to tell somebody, I'd sure rather it was you than, oh, I dunno….. Shiratori.  Nice guy, but not much of a sense of humor.  Not as patient with kids as I'd like, either, speaking from a personal standpoint.  No, if somebody's got to find out, I guess it could be a hell of a lot worse.*_

_*CRAP.  Well, get it over with, Kudo; this is nobody's fault but your own.*_

Drawing a deep breath, he dropped his gaze to the ground.  "Ummm.  Okay.  To start out with….. who do you _think I am, Takagi-san?"_

He could hear the man's intake of breath, could nearly hear his heartbeat.  A quick flicker of a glance up showed that Takagi looked nearly as shaky as he felt.  _*Huh; the guy's almost scared of me!*_

The young officer laughed nervously, pushing his hair back from his forehead with a habitual gesture.  "I'm… not sure.  You look like a little kid, _sound like a little kid….. until you forget to, or you stop bothering about it.  Like you did in the elevator."_

_*Yeah, well, YOU try keeping your 'cute-little-boy' act up when you're about to find yourself spread all over Tokyo in a thin red splatter.  Not.*_

"But… y'know… you _don't usually act like a little kid most of the time, not even when you're trying to.  You don't talk like a little kid—and your body language is ALL wrong; you keep still too long.  That's not natural for somebody your age."  He stopped, frowning.  "That is—I mean, somebody who's __really a little kid….."  Takagi-san rocked back on his heels, hands in pockets; his eyebrows were drawn together in perplexity._

The boy felt his shoulders droop; he had forgotten just how good Takagi was at his job.  He had the "cop's radar" down pat, sure enough—it was like a dog that barked at something unfamiliar or strange, and apparently there was an entire kennel of big, loud K-9 units baying at Edogawa Conan right now.  "Uh huh….. anything else?" he asked, looking out away across the markers.

The officer frowned and rocked back on his heels a little, hands in pockets, obviously thinking hard.  "Lots of things, once I thought about it—and I've been thinking about it for a while now, I guess; it all just came to a head with the bomb and all.  Lots of stuff I sort of just pushed aside at the time—like when you made those kids you hang around with put on gloves in an evidence environment; like all those questions you've asked to draw attention to clues—"  He shrugged, the thin edge of a smile beginning to creep onto his rather boyish face.  "You overdo it sometimes, you know, acting like a cute little boy…..  If you really want people to believe you're a seven-year-old, you ought to be more of a brat sometimes.  _No gradeschooler behaves that well—believe me, I know; I've got nephews."_

Conan shrugged, giving a slightly disgruntled snort.  "Huh; _try it sometime, Takagi-san—it's not as easy as it looks."  He scuffed at the leaves with the toe of one tennis-shoe.  "So…..  Anything more?"  
  
_

The detective shot him a slightly guilty look.  "This last thing….. um, well, I was planning to save it for if you decided to try something cute like backing out of your promise--- leverage, you know?"  He laughed nervously, scratching at his head with one hand.  "Your records—your birth certificate, school records, that sort of thing—they're _too good, too easy to access, too perfect.  That's what really got me wondering, first time I took a look—__nobody's stuff is that readable or—or __clean.  I don't know who did the forgery job for you, but they were just a *little* too artistic."  He shook his head, a gleam of admiration creeping into his eyes.  "They were awfully __good, though….."_

_*Oh jeeze…..  I didn't think of THAT.  When Dad told me that he'd gotten somebody to "take care of my paperwork", I didn't bother to check on it myself.  Idiot!  Shit, Kudo, where was your brain?!?*  The boy fought to calm his expression.  He shoved his hands into his pockets, walking a few feet away and staring across the stones.  _

A last wisp of incense teased at his nose as he drew in a long breath; this was harder than he had thought it would be.  "Huh; guess it'd take a cop to spot that, though… right?"  Behind him Takagi shrugged, unseen.  "Guess so.  I mean, I _was looking for something weird….."_

It was growing darker in the cemetery now; the sun had passed behind the buildings, and the shadows were beginning to stretch longer and longer.  Conan raised his face to the darkening sky, and he heard the detective catch his breath.  "What's wrong?"

"Uh… nothing."  Takagi sounded more than a little nervous.  The older man shuffled his feet on the graveled path slightly.  "It's just that—you don't really look like a kid anymore, not to me… you face, anyway.  Did you… do something?"

Conan half-turned in place, eyeing the policeman with one eyebrow quirked up.  "No, not really; just dropped my masks, I guess—you know, body language?  I'm not trying to look like a little kid anymore, not for you.  What—did you think I was some sort of magician or something?  Trust me, I'm not gonna suddenly go 'poof!' and turn into an adult in front of you."  He snorted, a very unchildlike sound that made Takagi jump slightly.  "Hah; I _wish….."  He could hear the note of wistfulness that had crept into his own voice._

_*Man, he really IS sort of scared of me, isn't he?  And here I am, freaking out at him!  Maybe this won't be so bad after all…..*  _

_*Wonder what he'd do if I suddenly screamed "BOO!"?........  Behave, Kudo; he can still drag you off to jail for impersonating a minor if he gets pissed off.  Kind of a tempting thought, though, isn't it?*_

"Look," he said abruptly, shoving his hands into his pockets; "Do you want the whole story, or just the basic facts?  I mean, it's getting late; it'll be dark soon, and I for one don't really feel like sitting around in a cemetery after nightfall."  He shot the older man a slightly crooked grin.  "I don't know what you _think I am, Takagi-san, but I can promise you I'm nothing supernatural."  Conan snickered despite himself at the slow flush of embarrassment that crept across the detective's face, just visible in the dim light.  "Hey—don't tell me you're superstitious, are you?"_

"Don't be an idiot," growled the older man as he reddened.  "Give me a break, whoever you are—I'm on unknown ground here!  For all I know you're, uh-----"  His voice trailed off; Conan cocked his head to one side and stared up at him with interest.  He had been _wondering what sort of explanations Takagi might have come up with for him…..  "'For all you know I'm—what?" he prompted, his grin widening a little._

The detective stopped where he stood, scratching his head.  "Hell if **_I know….." he confessed rather sheepishly.  He looked remarkably young for a moment, and the boy recalled belatedly that he was really only about five or six years his senior._**

The small boy regarded him with crossed arms, quirking one eyebrow up.  "Oh, c'mon….. if _I'm gonna have to be honest here, __you can take the plunge too.  Besides, I always considered you truthful to a fault, really—so tell me: 'For all you know, I'm…..'"_

"Uhhhh….."

Conan waited expectantly.  This was almost fun, compared with how stressed-out he had been a moment before.  It was kind of interesting to have somebody else regarding _him with apprehension, rather than the other way around._

Takagi cleared his throat nervously.  "Well—I thought at first that you might be a midget or something; but your proportions are all wrong for that.  So… then I thought maybe you, umm, might be the result of some sort of experimentation, or maybe… I, uhh, started wondering about….." his words ground to a halt and he stopped, flushing deeply.

"Hm?" prompted Conan.  He was starting to enjoy this.

"…..err….. possession….. y'know….. ghosts and that sort of thing?"

For a moment the transformed young man's head reeled, and he fought down what would have probably been slightly hysterical laughter.  _*Ohhhh MAN, could I have fun with this if I wanted to!  "I am the ghost of Kudo Shinichi, and I possess the body of this cute little kid whenever the hell I feel like it and make him solve mysteries!  He's searching for my murderer, a guy in a black trenchcoat named Gin….. seen him around anywhere?"  Sounds like a plot for a really cheesy movie.  Huh; a pity I didn't use that one on Hattori!*_

A little of his amusement escaped him in an involuntary snort, too brief to be called laughter but too audible to be anything else.  Takagi turned a little redder, crossing his own arms and looking down from his height at the boy.  "Don't laugh…..  I mean, what was I supposed to think?  You look like a _little kid—my eyes keep telling me you're a little kid—but you're __not a little kid."_

Conan grinned up at him, shaking his head as they continued along the path.  "This has really been bugging you for a while, hasn't it?   Why didn't you say something a while ago?"

The detective pushed the rusty gate open on squeaking hinges, shooting the small figure by his side a slightly dirty look.  "Like what?  'Hey, I noticed that you don't act like a normal kid—are you a mutant or something?'  Or maybe 'Hey, Ran-kun, did you ever think that Conan-kun might be from another planet?'……. What?  Something like that?"

Somehow he sounded a lot more relaxed now.  Exasperation could do that; so could embarrassment.  The boy chuckled, watching his steps as they moved towards where Takagi's rather dilapidated car was parked.  "Well, I'm not a mutant and I'm not from another planet…. You're not an anime fan by any chance, are you?"

Takagi's grunt of annoyance as he climbed into his car could have been taken for either a 'yes' or a 'no'; Conan decided to ignore it entirely.  He tugged on the car's door-handle; it refused to budge, and he tried again with all his child-body's strength.  "Hmph—door's stuck.  Crap, I _hate being small….. Takagi-heiji, could you---?"_

The young officer shot him a slightly odd look from inside the car as he reached across to open the door with a shove.  "So you're no stronger than a regular little kid, huh?"

Conan shrugged, fastening his belt.  "I *AM* a little kid, physically….. it's up _here—" and he tapped his head with one finger "—that I'm different."  He sighed.  "So; basic facts or the whole story?"_

Takagi frowned, but the expression seemed more directed at his car than at the boy beside him; the vehicle was sputtering and coughing as he attempted to turn the engine over.  "Uhhh… basic facts, to begin with, I guess….."  He seemed to brace himself.

The young boy took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to begin.  _*I've never had to sum things up quick like this before—when I told Hattori I had enough time to lay it out plain.  Well, here goes…..*_

"Okay.  My real name…..  My _real name is Kudo Shinichi, and I'm actually eighteen; we've met before, you and I—the first time was during a murder that took place on a commercial plane flight.  About a year ago I ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time, saw too much, and was forced to take an untested poison called APTX-4869 by a thug who worked for a huge invisible crime syndicate called the Black Organization.  The poison was supposed to kill me, but instead it reverted my body to a seven-year-old's, so I had to pretend I __was one and hide out under a fake identity to keep them from hunting me down and finishing the job."_

He glanced sideways at the policeman beside him.  "Got all that?"

There was a pregnant pause as the old vehicle shivered and clattered, pistons pinging.

Takagi stared at the boy.  "You're **_kidding__."_**

The engine shuddered and died.

*********************************************************************************************

_YSABET'S NOTES__:  Hi there…..  Well, this one's a bit hard to explain.  My Japanese is somewhere between hopeful and pathetic, so mostly I rely on a number of trusty dictionaries, a JWP program, my hard-won-but-finally-memorized Hiragana, and my very good friend and Japanese teacher Bridget for *really* getting the sense out of those pesky volumes of manga.  I'm pretty sure I've got the story down right regarding the bomber plot from volumes 36-37—I sure HOPE so, because what you've just read is Chapter One of a little twist on the Conan world: what might have happened if Takagi decided that he just HAD to know Conan's secret.  I like Takagi; I really do.  Of all the police-types there, he's my favorite—he's sweet, boyish, determined, cute, intelligent, and just makes me want to ruffle his hair and shove him into Sato-san's arms with an admonition to "Kiss her, you fool!"  (Actually, Sato's far more likely to take the lead unless something drastic happens; I could murder Megure myself for walking in at the wrong moment in that alley in Volume 37…..  Go Sato!!!  Rah Rah Rah!!!)  But maybe that's just me; did I mention that I think he's cute?--  Anyway, back to the storyline.  Oh yeah—uh, this one's gonna be a lot more light-hearted than my "Second Wind" series was (and please don't eviscerate me, you who are currently waiting for Chapter 10 to come out—it's almost done!  I swear!  But this was bugging the hell out of me and just HAD to be written…..); despite the title, it will NOT, I repeat NOT BE A GHOST STORY!!!  There.  The ghosts in this fic are the ghosts of memory—and they can be much scarier than a wandering spirit, you know.  And much, much more personal._

_Anyway….. please let me know what you think of this.  Oh, and by the way—no, I *didn't* have to have Conan Explain Things in such a short fashion, but I had a bet with myself that I could get him to tell everything in three sentences.  I think I won!  Or lost!  Or whatever…..  Oh, and the 'batwings and glowing eyes' thing—Icka, please pardon me—I just couldn't resist the reference to your Shinigami fic!  ^_^_


	2. Criminal Minds

**Conversations Among Ghosts******

**By Ysabet**

_Chapter 2:  Criminal Minds_

"It's the _battery, I'm telling you!"_

"No way—where'd you learn your mechanics from, old episodes of _Giant Robo_?  It's the _bearings!"_

"Look, if it was the bearings we'd be seeing an oil-drip-----"

The small figure slid out from where he had been lying beneath the faintly smoking car; dark blotches smeared his childish face, the usual glasses having been long since abandoned.  The dark-haired young man in shirtsleeves craned his head to one side of the hood, groaning as the boy indignantly held up greasy, blackened hands; unfortunately for his peace of mind, the faint light of his wristwatch-flashlight showed the oil stains clearly.  "What's _this look like, huh?  I've been having a hard time keeping it from getting in my eyes!"  The faux gradeschooler grinned a slightly sarcastic grin of triumph.  "__Bearings.  Told you so."_

Detective Takagi Wataru swore under his breath.  Shoving himself out from under the hood of his somewhat worse-for-wear automobile the young officer sighed and wiped sweat from his eyes (incidentally leaving a smudge of black across the bridge of his nose in the process).  "Well, that's it—nothing we can do but find a tow-truck."  He aimed a kick at one tire, then swore again as he connected.  _"@$#*&!!!"_

Dusting gravel and greasy sand from the seat of his pants, his erstwhile companion rolled his eyes.  "Oh, _that's mature."  The young policeman shot him an annoyed look.  "Y'know, Kudo, I think I liked you better when I just thought you were a regular little kid….."_

A pause; then Kudo Shinichi grinned up at him with Edogawa Conan's little-boy smile, all big eyes and cuteness.  "Okay!  So what'll we do next, Takagi-niisan?  I'm _hungry__—can we find something to eat?"  The chirpy, childish voice made the officer jump slightly; he glared down at the boy and growled "Don't __do that!  This is hard enough as it is—"_

"Some people are just never satisfied—and don't call me 'Kudo' in public, okay?  You never know who might be listening."  The teenager-turned-gradeschooler wiped at his face, smearing the smudges even further around his smirk.  After a moment, though, the smirk faded into a slightly apologetic smile; "Sorry about that—I don't get much chance to joke around with anybody over a meter tall, and it's a nice change—" he added in a somewhat conciliatory tone.  

The boy shoved his hands into his pockets, searching for something to wipe them on; a battered Kleenex came to his aid, and he surveyed Takagi (who was now on his hands and knees, peering beneath his car and muttering).  "You know, we're both a real mess—_and we're stuck out here.  Got any ideas?  I wasn't joking when I said I was hungry….."_

The detective climbed to his feet with a sigh, clicking off his flashlight.  It was true dark by now; the warmth of the afternoon had finally given way to cricket-chirping twilight and an overcast sky, and if the smell of oil hadn't overpowered every other scent in the vicinity it would probably have been a nice evening.

_*Yeah…* thought Takagi wistfully, brushing at the gravel on his knees; __*and here I am wasting it with the Boy Wonder here, instead of spending time with Sato-kun.  Miwaki-kun.  Can't believe she almost kissed me.*  For a moment his eyes glazed over a little as he relived the moments in the alleyway when her hands had come up to cup his face, pulling his lips down towards hers…..  He drew a deep breath in of the crankcase-scented air, remembering Sato's voice, her touch, the soft brush of her warm breath against his skin as his eyes had closed….._

"Umm… Takagi?  You okay up there?"  The tentative young voice brought him back to himself with a jolt.  "Uhh… yeah—sorry 'bout that."  He blinked sheepishly down at the dirty young face upturned to his.  "Hey—we can't go anywhere with you looking like that—wipe your face, will you?  You look like somebody used you to clean a garage with.  Where'd you learn about cars at, anyway?"

Conan scrubbed half-heartedly at his face with the handkerchief supplied by the young man.  "My dad—he taught me a few years back—taught me to drive, too—much good it does me like _this—"  The voice was muffled by the scrap of cloth; he finished, handing it back and grinning a little lopsidedly up from a somewhat less blotchy face.  "Thanks.  Better?"_

The detective peered at him critically through the darkness.  "Guess so—at least we won't get mistaken for transients."  He sighed, closing the hood with a bang and scowling at the car.  "Cheap piece of foreign pot-metal…..  That's the LAST time I buy anything other than domestic."  With a grumble he shrugged himself back into his jacket and locked the car door behind him, turning to join the boy who waited impatiently for him beside the road.

As Takagi approached, Conan cocked an eyebrow up at him.  "No cell-phone on you, huh?"  A grumbled reply containing the words 'dead batteries' was answer enough; he sighed, wondering how long it would take Ran to become concerned.  It all depended on whether or not she and Sato-san got distracted or went straight back to the Mouri office/home; they got along awfully well, and things had been pretty stressful lately…..

The older man squinted down the darkened road at the lights in the distance.  "I—_think that's a service station up that hill; hard to tell from here.  Oh well; guess we hoof it at this point."  His short companion grunted in agreement and they began the long walk through the evening._

"So….."  Takagi shoved his hands into his pockets, staring straight ahead as he walked.  "You mind if I ask a few more questions?"

Conan snorted, a most unlikely noise for a seven-year-old.  "I'd be disappointed if you _didn't, actually.  Go ahead."  They walked on for a few more yards while the detective considered; then an uneasy look crossed his face.  "Uhh… are there any __more kids like you?  I mean, well, not __kids exactly, but—"_

The boy chuckled.  "One.  Can't tell you who, though—it wouldn't be fair without their permission."

"Oh."  The dark-haired man frowned, chewing on his lip in concentration; then his face cleared and he grinned a triumphant grin, white teeth flashing in the dark.  "Hah!  You don't have to tell me—I can guess."

Conan glanced up at him, eyebrows disappearing into his bangs.  "Really?  No way!"

Takagi shook his head.  "I always _knew there was something funny about that kid—she tries a little too hard, maybe; but I have to admit she's a good actress—if I didn't know better, I really __would think she was a real kid."_

Dark blue eyes narrowed as they peered up at the young officer through slightly smeared glass lenses.  "Huh; I've always thought she was too… stiff.  You know, kind of a cold fish?  I mean, I _like her okay and all that, but….."  A cool, faintly rain-scented breeze blew a strand of hair across his eyes and he wiped at it impatiently._

The detective grinned down at him.  "Cold fish?  I wouldn't say _that.  _She sure likes you—I've seen how those other boys glare when she pays attention to you, Ladykiller!"  He chuckled, head up and shoulders back as he strolled along through the dark.

Understanding dawned slowly, as slowly as a drop condensing from a beaker into a test-tube.  "You….. think that _Ayumi is like me?"  Conan's head slowly swiveled on his shoulders until he was looking at the back of the officer's head; his steps slowed, faltering to a halt._

Takagi frowned back at him over his shoulder.  "Well, _yeah…..  I mean, no little girl is __that cute—those big, innocent eyes are a dead giveaway…..  What *are* you laughing at?"_

The boy waved weakly at him from where he had collapsed against a roadside post, completely beyond the power of speech.  Muffled chortles of laughter sounded through the still night, silencing the crickets; the young policeman sighed as his face fell.  "Got it wrong, huh?" he said gloomily.  "Damn."  He lowered his head a little and sulked while his companion tried to get his breath back.

Conan shook his head, staggering a little as he got back onto his feet; his chest hurt from laughing so hard.  "Ayumi-kun's just Ayumi-kun, a normal little girl, and so are Genta and Mitsuhiko."  

The detective looked startled; "THEY'RE little girls?!?"

"No, you idiot—real kids, I mean!"  He rolled his eyes and resumed walking, falling into step beside the policeman.  Takagi grinned a little as he noticed that the top of the boy's head didn't even quite make it to his own waist.  "So… you _did say 'she'….. that'd be the other little girl, the blonde—what's her name, Ai-something?  Quiet little thing."_

Beside him Conan made a sour face.  "You wouldn't think so if _you'd been the one to knock over a Coke onto her keyboard…..  Yeah, you guessed it; Haibara Ai.  And I'll warn you ahead of time, she is __not going to be happy that you figured me out, not one bit; be careful around her, okay?"_

Takagi's grin widened.  "Makes you nervous, huh?"

His companion scowled horribly.  "She made me _short."  At the detective's widened eyes he explained.  "She used to work for the Black Organization; she's the scientist who developed APTX-4869, the drug that put me back in gradeschool.  Her bosses held her sister as a hostage for her good behavior, but when they killed her off Ai decided to take her own poison rather than wait for the Black Org's… attentions.  They are __not nice people."  He laughed shortly, glancing up at Takagi's astonished face.  "Yeah, she took her own stuff—they had locked her up, and the way she saw it they were probably going to torture her for every scrap of information they could squeeze out before they killed her.  Poison was quicker and probably less painful….. and besides, she had a good idea about what had happened to _me.  _She didn't really know if it'd work for her or what kind of reaction she'd have to the capsule—maybe death, maybe… this."  He shrugged.  "But she was willing to gamble.  So she joined the ranks of the Terminally Short and got away from her captors."_

By now the policeman was looking at him sideways, his face a little grim.  "She risked suicide to get away from people that were going to kill her anyway?"

Conan shook his head emphatically.  "No—she _committed suicide to get away from them.  It just didn't—__quite—kill her."  He frowned, looking up at the clouded sky above.  "When she took the capsule, as far as she knew she was going to die—she had no idea of the odds or even if what happened to me was a total fluke.  It was all or nothing."_

"Whew….."

"Yeah, well, that's Ai-kun.  She's had a rough time—her sister was the only family she had.  Problem is, for some reason the Black Org guys still believe she's alive somewhere… she's almost been killed a couple of times by the same guys that got me.  A little while back, when she was temporarily turned back to her adult self, she—"

Takagi nearly stumbled over his own feet, he stopped so quickly.  "Whoa, whoa!  'TURNED BACK?'  You mean that this—" and he waved a hand over Conan's head, bringing about an annoyed snort "—isn't _permanent??  I thought you were stuck like this-----"_

The boy grimaced.  "You sure ask a lot of questions, don't you?"  He sighed, absentmindedly wiping his small hands down the front of his pants and leaving grimy smears behind.  "We've run across two kinds of temporary cures; one only lasts a short while—less than half an hour at best, and it's a one-time deal.  The _other one lasts somewhere around twenty-four hours….."_

"Huh.  So why aren't you---"

"—popping pills like a junkie and using the second cure over and over?"  The young-old eyes closed for a moment in a flash of pain.  "Because it's dangerous… and it hurts like hell.  Think about it." and he blinked up at Takagi, lines of weariness settling oddly in the childish face.  

"Can you imagine what a person's body has to _go through to get like this?"  A thumb jerked towards his chest.  "Your bones have to change shape, your internal organs, everything—even your skull.  And your heart has to keep beating through all of the misery…..  Every change is risking death all over again."  He shuddered.  "The first time it happened to me, I was pretty sure I had died.  And it's worse, going the other direction….. you __know how much it's going to hurt."  The snort of amusement that escaped the small figure held little humor.  _

Conan crossed his arms, hugging the memory tight to himself while the young man beside him eyed him askance.  That look of pain in his young face…. Takagi had seen that sort of expression before.  Usually, though, it was in the aftermath of a shooting or kidnapping or something else equally traumatic.

Their steps rustled the dew-wet grass underfoot as the faintest grumble of thunder reverberated overhead.  He cast around rather desperately for a change of topic.  "Ahhh…. So….. What's it like, being a gradeschooler all over again?"  _*Brilliant, Takagi—yeah, THAT'LL take his mind off being short.  Sato-kun's right—you are an idiot.*_

Oddly enough, though, the boy seemed not to notice—or maybe he was just grateful for the chance to talk about something else.  "Weird.  Very, very weird.  Boring, most of the time—but it has its moments."

"Yeah?  Like what?"

"Recess….."

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Oh, _crap."  Hands on hips, Conan surveyed the service station with a jaundiced eye.  "As if this day needed something else to go wrong….."_

The sign on the door said _CLOSED—PLEASE COME BACK LATER! HAVE A NICE DAY! in cheerful, bright red characters.  It might as well have said __CLOSED—YOU'RE SCREWED! as far as the despondent pair standing under the lone streetlight were concerned._

Takagi muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath regarding the service station's staffmembers; as if in answer, the damp evening breeze swirled a drift of dead leaves around his feet.  Heaving a sigh, the officer shoved his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders forward a little; it was beginning to get rather cool out.  "Well….. guess we'll just have to catch a bus to Headquarters."  He indicated the bus-stop at the curb with a nod as another gust blew the leaves across the pavement towards the street.  "Could be worse.  Could be raining."

The boy looked a little dubious, but shrugged.  "I suppose….."  They plodded silently across the asphalt; the young policeman managed to turn his slight snicker into a cough as his companion hiked himself up onto the metal bench with a plop!, short legs dangling.  _*Don't laugh at him, Takagi—he can't help being a runt right now.  Besides, this is one 'little kid' you don't want mad at you!  Piss him off and he'll probably hack into your credit card account or something like that…..*_

He noticed that Conan was eyeing the service station a little speculatively; "What's up?"

"Well….."  The boy had that _look in his eyes, the one that Takagi had seen before—usually about two minutes before he did one of those things that made him less childlike, like finding the bloodstains that everyone else had missed or something.  "I was just wondering if the station has a phone---"_

"Fat lot of good that'll do us with nobody there."

"--- and an open window anywhere---?"

Takagi frowned, turning the thought over in his head a few times.  _Normally he was a stickler for the law; __normally he wouldn't dream of doing anything like what certainly sounded like breaking-and-entering… __normally._

A faint, distant rumble intruded on his hearing; was that thunder?  Now, what had he just said about 'could be raining'?  There was that smell in the air, the one you got just before a storm…

A fat drop landed on his knee.

Takagi _hated getting wet._

Beside him, the boy watched with interest at the struggle on the young policeman's face as his common sense, training and ethics fought with the basic desire to not get caught in the rain.  Apparently his common sense was turning traitor and joining the let's-not-get-wet faction, since at last he sighed and turned to look dubiously at Conan.

"It's breaking and entering, you know….. and I _AM a police officer….. and no matter how you look at it, it's illegal….."  Takagi could hear the capitulation in his own voice.  _

The small face grinned up at him.  "Only if we get caught… and it's for a good cause, right?  You wouldn't want Sato-san to worry, now, would you?  She's had enough excitement for one day."  Conan pulled his glasses off, wiping the spatters of rain away with his shirt-tail; he squinted up at the transom window over the main door.  "And besides… Ran'll kill you if I'm _too late getting back.  She won't be too thrilled with me, either; might even find myself being grounded--- God, what a thought."_

Takagi blinked, recalling Ran's karate skills with a certain amount of trepidation.  "I… don't want to upset Sato-kun any more today, that's true…."  A single cold drop ran down his neck into his collar, making him shiver; he sighed, giving in.  "All right, but if we get caught I'm telling everyone we saw a burglar and gave chase."

"Fair enough."  The boy's eyes gleamed in amusement under the streetlights; a thin rumble from the cloud-cover overhead heralded the approach of heavier rain as it began to fall in earnest.  "Let's take a look around back, why don't we?  This transom window's locked, but maybe…"  Without waiting for an answer, he splashed through the first shallow puddles and around the corner; a somewhat bemused Takagi followed, wondering if this was really such a good idea after all.

For a service station, it had been kept fairly neatly; crates, oil cans and other assorted debris were at a surprising minimum, though the concrete and asphalt behind the building was heavily stained with oil.   The young officer glanced nervously behind him towards the road; there were very few cars along this stretch—it was just as well, too, considering what he was getting involved in…..

A grunt behind him made him turn back around, to see his diminutive companion hanging precariously from a windowsill by his fingertips.  "Need a boost, Conan-kun?"  Glancing up at the rain with a grimace, he stepped to one side beneath the back door's overhang.

In answer the boy dropped back to the ground with a _splat! of mud and water.  "Don't bother," he said with a sigh, wiping his fingers against his pants as he ducked into the door's alcove to escape the rain.  "This one's also locked—but I saw a phone on the desk in there.  If we can just find an open window---"  In exasperation he smacked one small fist surprisingly hard against the back door….._

….. which gave a resounding _creeeeeeaaaak as the lock popped; the door swung invitingly inwards a few inches._

Two wide pairs of eyes stared at each other; as one, they glanced towards the open doorway, then back out at the falling rain.  It was really coming down now, and the puddles were growing; Takagi was conscious of an uncomfortably steady trickle of cold water down his neck.  "Maybe it won't hurt if we make just _one call---" he murmured, reaching to push the door wider….._

….. just as, with a growl of engine noise and a plash of curbside drainage, something that sounded remarkably like a bus pulled slowly to a halt at the roadside bus-stop just beyond the building.  It WAS a bus, brightly lit and in plain sight, which of course meant that _THEY were in plain sight too._

The bright young cop-on-the-scene that had lived in the back of Takagi's brain since his rookie days (not _that long ago, really) immediately popped up with a crime-scene description while the rest of his brain cowered:  __Suspects were witnessed forcibly entering a darkened service station; probable motive robbery.  Primary suspect observed to be an Asian male with dark hair and eyes, wearing a badly stained and soaked black jacket and white shirt; secondary suspect was a preadolescent boy with brown hair and blue eyes… Suspects were apprehended and dragged away in chains (preadolescent suspect was later released for reasons of obvious and blatant innocence; older suspect was retained in confinement and fed bread and water while awaiting trial plus dishonorable discharge from Metro police force.  Suggestion for sentencing:  Seppuku.)  He felt a trickle of cold sweat join the rain-drops dripping off his chin.  "Uhhhh… Conan…. Kudo….."_

"Right with you."  The boy had already stepped quickly back from the door and was leaning nonchalantly against the wall as if he had been doing so for simply hours; Takagi could practically see him blinking up with those wide eyes at whoever-it-was that would come to arrest them for burglary _('Oh no, Officer-san… we were just waiting for the rain to stop, honest!  You aren't (sniffle) going to put us (sniffle) in jail, ARE you?')  He found that he was gritting his teeth._

"Come on---"

"Urk?"  A small hand had caught his sleeve, and Takagi found himself being towed through the rain towards the bus-stop.  "What are you _doing??" he hissed, digging in his heels; Conan swore briefly under his breath as their abrupt halt in the middle of a puddle splashed them both with muddy water.  __"STOP, you idiot—they probably saw us trying to get inside—and stop __swearing like that—little kids don't swear!"_

The small hand still tugged at his sleeve, showing surprising strength.  "Get a grip, Takagi-kun—" muttered the boy; "If we act suspicious, we'll be suspected—if we act normal, we'll be treated like we're normal.  And you wouldn't believe some of the words the kids at school pick up---"  He gave the sleeve another yank, pulling the older man along like a reluctant dog on a leash.  _"C'mon, Takagi!  You want the bus to leave without us?"_

"Uhhhh---"  Visions of the eight-or-nine-kilometer walk back into town through the rain (and beside a sulking teenager/little boy, to boot) flashed through his mind; he shuddered and surrendered without any more struggle, fishing around in his pockets for his wallet as the bus-doors opened with a rubber-gasketed squeak of hinges.

_*Left back pocket—right back pocket—huh, that's weird… front jacket pockets, no… inner jacket pocket--- no… Oh, no way…..*_

_No.  Wallet.  _

He skidded (splashed) to a full stop.  "AAAAGHH!!"

Already half-way up the metal steps, Conan looked back irritably; droplets hung from his soggy bangs, streaking his glasses and dripping off his chin.  "Takagi, you're talking in grunts.  _WHAT is the problem?"_

"I… umm…."  Frantically he felt around the lining of his coat in case his pockets had developed a hole; no good, he had a little change in his pockets, that was all.  The young officer looked wildly around, checking the ground.  Nothing.  "I, uh, seem to have… errr… lost… my wallet."

A pause.  "You've….."

"Yeah.  'Fraid so.  I'll just have to come back and look for it later.  Crap.  It figures….."  He sighed, fishing out his change.  _*It just might be enough…..  No, a little short…..*  "Kudo—Conan-kun, do you have any money on you?"  Through the doors of the bus he could see the driver peering suspiciously at them.  It looked wonderfully warm and dry in there…_

A distinctly unchildlike look of annoyance on his face, the gradeschooler felt around in his own pockets.  "I've got… three hundred yen.  Will that help?"  Without waiting for an answer Conan tossed the coins to Takagi from a grimy hand, then wiped the rain from his face again.  As he did so, it seemed as if he wiped away something *else* as well with practiced ease—the face that turned towards the bus driver was not the one that had seconds before looked at his companion but was distinctly _young, wide-eyed and bedraggled—the face of a little boy caught out in the rain._

Takagi swallowed; it was just a little unnerving, seeing something like that happen right in front of a person.  He shook his head once, spatters of water flying, then followed Conan up the steps.

The bus driver (a middle-aged man with a rather sallow, hangdog face) eyed them both with distaste as they squelched their way down the aisle; but their money had just been enough to cover the fare, so he shrugged fatalistically and closed the door.  

The bus started with a lurch just as they took seats in the very back; Takagi nervously brushed back his dripping hair for the hundredth time, cheeks burning as the lights of the vehicle showed just how much of a mess he actually was for the first time.  His clothes smelled of motor oil, mud and… something else; he had somehow acquired a small rip in his left pants-knee, his hands were stained and his shoes caked with things better left unknown.  The young policeman sniffed carefully, wiping drops away from his face; they had walked alongside a bit of pastureland--- there had been cattle, hadn't there?

Takagi took a deeper sniff, then shuddered, deliberately looking away from his feet.  Apparently there _had.  He wasn't going to think about it._

The bus was nearly empty, save for a small scattering of passengers; at least _that was a mercy.  An elderly couple quietly chatted with each other up front near the driver, a teenaged girl wearing the usual anonymous t-shirt-and-jeans uniform complete with backpack accessory listened to the whine of her headphones halfway down one side, and three rather burly construction-worker types sat staring stolidly out at the rain on the other.  Nobody paid much attention to anybody else, and the growl of the old bus's engine merged with the steady mutter and hush of the rain to drown any conversation out in a sort of rumbling white noise._

Just as well, really, all things considered.  The _last thing he wanted anybody to know right now was that he was a cop.  After all, Takagi thought ruefully, he didn't exactly represent a shining example of Tokyo Metro just at the moment.  And as for his companion….._

_Drip.  Drip-drip.  The small boy beside him gave a shudder, then another.  Takagi frowned, looking down at the small, dark head.  "You okay?"_

The head in question tilted back as Edogawa Conan—no, Kudo Shinichi, he had to get used to the idea—looked up at him with a rather wavery smile.  "Yeah, just a little cold.  This kid's body doesn't hold as much heat as my old one did—not as much mass."  He shivered again as he wrapped his arms around himself tightly, then sneezed loudly.

One of the burly types further up the bus turned around to regard the two of them; a healthy growth of 5 o'clock shadow darkened his bristly jaws, and the man's heavy brows drew down as he took in Conan's soaked state.  He leveled a flat stare at Takagi.  "Kinda bad weather to take a kid out in, isn't it?"  His two companions also turned to eye him with disfavor; the young officer suddenly felt like a child abuser as the boy beside him sneezed again.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Conan beat him to it.  "It's not my niisan's fault… our car broke down," he informed the workers in his usual little-boy voice, the clear young tones making Takagi jump slightly.  "We tried and _tried to get it to start, but it just wouldn't go, and then we got rained on."  He shivered a third time, and the first worker's eyes softened a little as he grunted in sympathy._

_*Hang on--- his 'niisan'?  Me?*_

"Here—catch!"  A bundle of stained, somewhat smelly grey cloth struck Takagi in the chest; bemused, he opened it out a little.  It was a jacket, very much the worse for wear but _dry; the heavy-browed man that had tossed it nodded his head.  "Was gonna throw it away when I got home anyway—I tore the sleeve half off onna crate earlier.  You can use it to keep the kid warm if ya want."  With a gruff nod he turned back to his companions._

"Uhhh… thanks."  Takagi quirked one eyebrow at his little 'niichan', offering the ragged garment.  "Here, wrap this around you, okay?  At least it's dry…"  It also smelled rather strongly of fish, indicating that their benefactor worked the local docks rather than a construction site; Conan wrinkled his nose but snuggled down gratefully into the dry folds.  "Thanks!" he piped up, his gratitude genuine even through the assumed childish tones.

_*Great; I smell like cattle, and now he smells like dead fish.  We're both filthy as well as soaking wet, and we don't have any more money.  This is going to be like that time I got back to the stationhouse after I had to chase that suspect through a garbage dump, only worse---*  He sighed, glad that Sato-kun couldn't see him just then.  __*Wonder what she's doing right now, anyway?  She's probably dry and warm, drinking coffee somewhere…..*_

Now _he sneezed; the explosion began a dull throbbing in one temple.  __*Great; I'm probably coming down with a cold, too.*_

The sound of the tires splashing through the deepening puddles was oddly hypnotic; apparently there were few stops along this line, and Takagi found himself nodding off a little, lulled by the steady drone of engine and rain.  The small, damp figure beside him was silent save for the occasional sniffle.

Outside the windows, the rain continued to fall.

***********************************************************************

"Well, this is just _wonderful."  Officer Sato Miwako surveyed her squadcar dourly as rain dripped continuously off the tip of her nose._

Mouri Ran closed the trunk, wiping sodden hair away from her eyes.  "It could be worse, I suppose….. at least you _have a spare tire….."_

"That's true.  And I do know how to change a flat."  They had picked up something—a nail, maybe—about four kilometers away from the city edges; it hadn't been long before the tire gave way, and they had swerved slowly onto the curb to assess the damage.

Of course, this was _*after* the rain had started falling….._

_*Where on Earth is Takagi-kun?* wondered Sato, peering back along the highway for the dozenth time.  __*I thought he was right behind me---*  She sighed irritably; there was something she needed to see him about… but apparently it would have to wait._

"Well," she said briskly, trying to rinse tire-grime from her hands in the steady downpour, "I guess we can head back in now….."  _*Back to the station, soaking wet and not exactly clean—maybe we can stop somewhere and dry out a bit first?  And at least wash our hands?*_

Apparently Ran-kun had been thinking along the same lines, as she tried vainly to squeeze some of the sogginess out of her t-shirt and said mournfully "I—don't suppose you'd want to stop somewhere for some coffee or something--?"

Sato shook her head, sending water flying.  "You took the words right out of my mouth, Ran….."  She winced as another roll of thunder shook the sky overhead.  "Let's get going before anything _else---" _

**_SPLAAAAASSSSHHH!!!_**

"---happens---"

An utterly drenched and dripping Officer Sato Miwako stared openmouthed and outraged at the bus that had just driven past; later she would _swear it had swerved to hit the deep puddle beside them with the greatest possible force.  Behind her she could hear Mouri Ran distinctly and carefully saying a number of words that she must have picked up from her father; they seemed to fit the occasion rather well.  She turned back to the detective's daughter, wiping mud from her forehead with the back of one soggy hand._

"Let's… just go.  _Now."_

"Right."

Mouri Ran and Sato Miwako squelched their way back into the squadcar, dripping messily and refusing to look at each others faces; with what would have been a defiant squeal of tires (had it not been so damp), they drove off in search of coffee and civilization.

***********************************************************************

A lurch and the pneumatic groan of brakes startled him out of his near-doze; Takagi swayed in place a little as the bus pulled over to a curbside to allow several bedraggled, dripping passengers onboard.  _*Uhh?  Must've fallen asleep.  Where are we?*  He peered through the foggy window; if the sign by the bus-stop was to be believed the city was a mere three kilometers away.  __*Good.  Can't wait to get dry—feel like I've managed to get soaked in places I didn't even know I had.  Brrrr….*  He shivered; his muscles had stiffened and chilled during his little nap, and he felt cranky and irritable._

Takagi gradually became conscious of a warm weight against his side; he glanced down to see the small, indistinct huddle of smelly cloth leaning against him.  _*Wh--—oh, right.  Conan.  No, Kudo.  Um, both, I guess.  Sound asleep, too…..*  The child who was not a child had sunk down so far into his enveloping borrowed jacket that only the top of his head and the faint glimmer of one glasses-lens was visible among the folds.  Spiky, damp brown hair stuck up in a severe cowlick, making him look even younger than he was._

_*'Younger than—'  Heh; LOTS younger.  He's even pretty small for the kid he's supposed to be, isn't he?  Sort of a shrimp.*  Staring down at the diminutive form, Takagi thought about what it must be like to suddenly lose your body, your physical *self*, and deal with being trapped in such a small, helpless shape.  He repressed a shiver, wondering how the hell Kudo managed—_

With a rustle of cloth, the small figure beside him shifted in his sleep, the childish face turning a little to one side.  Conan's glasses had slid down his nose and were perched precariously on the tip, ready to fall off; carefully Takagi hooked them with one finger, folding the frames and pocketing them for safekeeping.

In the faint streetlight-flicker, the face seemed so very young and _innocent; just a tired little boy, curled in sleep._

_*Nobody'd believe what lies behind that face…..  No wonder he's managed a whole year without being caught; he looks awfully damn cute, doesn't he?  Guess that cuteness is kind of a self-defense ability most kids have, to keep their parents from drowning them when they hit the Terrible Twos.  It's also no wonder he seems to have Ran-kun so wrapped around his finger…..*_

_*I wonder… if Sato-kun and I ever… I mean, I wonder what kind of kids we'd…..?*  He felt himself blush._

As if in answer to Takagi's thoughts, the boy stirred a little.  "…R-Ran…?" he murmured, sleepy eyes blinking open and squinting in confusion against the changing light.  He pushed the jacket back, his half-awake gaze alighting and then fixing on the young officer.

It was uncanny, almost *eerie*, thought Takagi, watching the slideshow of expressions and identities that chased each other across that little-boy face:  Awareness, followed by the usual childish Conan-mask, followed by memory and realization, followed by relief _(relief?), followed in turn by the __look that he was beginning to recognize—the look that belonged (no matter the apparent age) to one Kudo Shinichi, age eighteen….._

The boy became aware of how he had been leaning against his companion at about this time; he shifted back upright, muttering a quick "sorry…" as he shoved the hair back out of his eyes and then groped for his glasses.  "Mmph?  Uh—"

"Here.  They were heading for the floor, so I put them away."  Takagi offered the frames.  "Why do you wear 'em, anyway?  I don't remember you wearing glasses when you were--- err---"

Conan blinked up at him, sliding the glasses back into place with one finger.  "Disguise…" he offered, obviously not yet quite awake.  "It's not much, but if it's good enough for Clark Kent—"  He yawned.

The young policeman chuckled, then sneezed.  He looked around a little, noting the new passengers settling into their seats as the bus began its slow acceleration.  An elderly woman shuffled past him, making her way towards the very back of the bus; as she drew level she wrinkled her nose and an expression of horror crossed her age-spotted face.  She hurried on, her steps suddenly becoming remarkably less feeble.

Belatedly Takagi recalled his and his companion's states of dishevelment….. and their 'atmospheres'.  _*Crap.  Sure hope nobody gets on that knows me…..*_

So far so good; aside from the offended obaasan, three American female tourist-types and a white-collar factory worker had boarded.  The teenagers were all gabbling together in excited English; he could occasionally catch familiar words, as in 'manga', 'bishounin' and 'Shonen Sunday'….. Takagi's eyebrows went up as the tallest young woman in the trio began imitating the firing of what seemed to be a shoulder-mounted rocket launcher (she was making all the right sound-effects, anyway)…..

"Anime fans."  The small voice beside him was barely audible; the comment ended in a sniffle.

"Huh?"  Takagi eyed the boy dubiously.  _"Anime fans?  They've got those in America too?"_

"Yeah; there's a doujinshi convention going on today.  Mitsuhiko-kun wanted to go, but his mom wouldn't let him—she said there's too much hentai stuff there for a boy his age.  I dunno, *kids* these days…"  The little boy shook his head, shifting to tuck one leg beneath him; his other leg dangled well off the ground, swinging a little as the bus moved.

The young officer declined to comment, stifling a snicker.  As the bus gained speed he continued to watch the young American girls.  The more genki one seemed to be trying to persuade the other two into something they were most unwilling to try; if violent headshakes and horrified looks all around were any indication, she had little chance of getting her way.  One of the teenagers (a vaguely Asian-looking girl, somewhat shorter than the others) seemed particularly nervous—she spent a few moments getting some point across in what had to be particularly vivid idiom, as the genki girl finally settled down in her seat in resigned agreement.

"She wanted the other two to go with her to an old shrine in the hills outside Tokyo…" said Conan quietly, humor coloring the words.  "And her friend pointed out that that's how almost _all the really bloody supernatural anime massacres start—with young women visiting old shrines in the hills outside Tokyo….."  He snickered to himself.  "She's right, too.  If I were her I'd watch the first girl, though—I don't think she's quite convinced yet."_

Takagi blinked; sure enough, that was how it happened nine times out of ten…..  And considering the somewhat sneaky glint in the genki girl's eyes, he'd stay on his toes too if he were them.

Trying to ignore the continuing sounds of enthusiastic gunfire imitations (Takagi wondered if they might possibly be rehearsing a 'Dirty Pair' skit), he stared out at the sodden landscape.  It was too dark to really see anything much, but from the frequency of the streetlights they looked to be approaching the city limits…..  "So, Ku--  err, Conan… um, Conan-kun?"

The boy glanced up.  "You can keep calling me that—it's okay; I'm used to it by now, anyway.  What?"

"Where'd you learn English?"

A sigh.  "School, and my mom and dad taught me a lot as well…..  Remember, I used it on that airplane case, back when I was, ahh, _taller?"  The last part of the sentence was spoken in a somewhat softer tone.  "I've always been pretty good with languages; English is a pain, but it's useful."_

The young Americans had quieted a little by now; the third female (the one with the huge artist's sketchbook sticking out of her backpack) glanced over towards Takagi and his erstwhile charge; her eyes softened at the sight of the child as she offered him a smile… and then sniffed; her eyes widened and she hastily turned around.

"Damn cattle….."

"Yeah.  Damn fish….."

They both sighed.

***********************************************************************

_'Arrested'.  It was such an interesting word._

In fact, thought Sato-kun, as she froze with her long-awaited cup of coffee just below her lips, in a few moments it was going to be one of her *favorite* words, since she was planning to put it into action the hard way—upside someone's head and in spades.

_*Arrested.  Arrest, arresting, arrested.  He arrests, she arrests, they arrest….  If I don't get to drink my coffee, you can bet damn WELL I'm going to arrest…..*_

They had been in the small roadside lunch-cafe for—how long?  Five minutes, max? when the greasy-haired, mufflered perp had burst in through the doors, waving a ridiculously small, oddly gaudy handgun and shouting "EVERYBODY DOWN ON THE FLOOR NOW!!!" at the top of his lungs.

_*Now THIS is a man who's watched way too many police dramas…..  Let's see; next he'll charge over to the register and demand all the money in a bag.  Then he'll make some threats while the manager is obliging, and I can maybe take care of things while his attention's diverted…..*_

It wasn't that Sato discounted the danger—he was a robber, and he was armed… apparently.  It was just that, the gun-laws of Japan being what they were, it was remarkably difficult for your average citizen to obtain a handgun nowadays.  Cops tended to get quite good at spotting fake weapons.  And of course, there was the little fact that she had picked up a Police Action Adventure Set for her cousin's kid's birthday-party two days ago, and the toy revolver had looked an _AWFUL lot like the piece that this perp was sporting._

_*Look, it's still got that cute little gold star sticker on the butt—he hasn't even taken off the Police Action Crack Shot bull's-eye decals, for crying out loud---*  Sato-kun sighed and began to lower her coffee cup….._

…..just as a heavily-laden waitress came out of the double kitchen doors with three trays balanced along her arms.  One look at the perp and she shrieked; her hands flew up, and suddenly the air was filled with flying coffee, hot tea, rice---

--chopsticks, china plates, hot sauce—

-- beef chow mein, teriyaki chicken, soba noodles, miso soup, sushi--

_***CLATTER-SPLATT!!-CRASH-CRASH!!!-SPLUT-TING-TING-SPLAT!!!***_

A veritable blizzard of condiments and consumables rained down around, over and on top of the robber and the cash register—and, incidentally, Sato and Ran in their front booth.  Ran, who had sat stock-still from her first sight of the perp, ducked as far down as possible even as Sato did the same.

_***BOPP!!***_

The resounding thwap of their two heads meeting over the tabletop added an odd counterpoint to the squishy splats, shatterings and splashes of the descending lunches.  Dazed, Sato shook her head hard as her ears rang with the robber's scream; apparently he had gotten a particularly large pot of tea right in the teeth.  Wiping sukiyaki from her face, she dove for the flailing perp's arms and managed (with much slipping, swearing and sliding) to handcuff him tightly to a nearby table-leg.

The whole thing had taken less than thirty seconds.  And all the while the rest of the restaurant's patrons and employees had sat frozen, their eyes bugging out…..

Silence, broken by the scalded robber's moans and Sato's harsh breathing.

"Umm… Sato-kun?  Are you all right?"  Ran asked tentatively, trying vainly to shake shrimp-fried rice from her hair.  No-one else dared say a word.

"Fine.  Fine!"  Answered the officer brightly; she bent over and picked up the gun, hot sauce dripping from her sleeves.  Sure enough, a Police Action Adventure special.  "Well….. isn't someone going to call the police?"  She smiled cheerfully at the manager (who had somehow managed to miss most of the edible fallout).  The man goggled at the noodle-bedecked young woman before him; a thin trickle of oyster sauce was dripping from one side of her hair and there were scraps of steamed cabbage bedecking her shoes.  

"Aren't you… err, that is….. aren't you…a…??"  His confusion was understandable; she _HAD pulled out a set of handcuffs, after all._

Sato smiled at him, every tooth showing.  At least it _looked like a smile at first glance.  "Would someone be kind enough to lend us some clothes?  We seem to have spilled our drinks…" and she nodded significantly at her companion, who was dabbing ineffectively at a heavy coating of teriyaki sauce that had managed to make its way down the front of her shirt.  "And I believe we'd like some more coffee, too.  Right, Ran?"_

"Uh, r-right.  That'd be nice."  Ran was looking distinctly nervous; Sato was acting weird.  Now the young police officer was turning back to the manger and smiling that too-brilliant, amazingly sharklike smile again:  "Clothes?" she suggested as one of the waitresses hurriedly dialed for assistance.

Only too happy to comply (and escape a stare that looked as if it was skirting imminent hysteria, plus weaponry), the manager nodded and bowed simultaneously.  "Right, right, of course…  If you would care to wait in my office….."  He scooted out the restaurant door as if on ice skates, leaving the dripping pair to his employees.  After all, there _was a clothing store of sorts right next door….. _

…..well, it _did sell clothing, among *other* things….._

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was with a blankfaced stare that Sato Miwako examined the garments that had been provided for her several minutes later.  Allowing the clothing to slip into her lap, she blinked up at the cringing manager.  "You're kidding."

Ran was still in the Ladies Room, trying to remove chunks of tofu from her hair before they became permanently attached; what _she had to say when she saw their new wardrobe was going to be quite interesting._

"So."  Sato sat back, one soy-sauce stained hand clutching the offending articles of clothing; they slid silkily through her fingers, and were all in shades of black with an occasional leavening of white or scarlet lace.  "Your next-door-neighbor is a… bordello?"

"NO!  N-no, of course not….."  The manager waved his hands frantically.  "A—a _lingerie shop, nothing more, I swear---  I picked out the most, errr, modest things they had---"_

She had to give him that; the satin jackets, camisoles and miniskirts were, in general, enough to save one's modesty… just (apparently the shop that had provided them was one of Tokyo's many 'intimate apparel' boutiques)  And they were dry, and clean, and didn't smell like the Daily Special…..  "Fine.  Thank you."  Sato dripped her way messily into the bathroom, handing over a bundle of silky clothing to a highly-occupied Ran as she passed.  A muffled "Arigatou" came from the sink as the other young woman shut off the water, pushing soggy hair from her face.  Without bothering to examine her new clothing, the detective's daughter disappeared into one of the stalls.

Several moments passed, filled with the rustling of cloth from each woman's respective stall…..

"Um, Sato-kun?"

"…yes, Ran?"

"Is this… some kind of a joke?  Or maybe a mistake…  I mean, I'm not _sure, but I think you've given me your undergarments."_

"………….."

"Sato?  Sato-kun?"

A sigh.  Sato explained.  All in all, Ran took it fairly well.

Miniskirted and somewhat scantily clad, the two women eyed each other as they stepped out of the stalls; at least the clothing _fit well enough.  "You know….. said Ran slowly, "we can either let ourselves be embarrassed over this--- or we can brazen it out."  She shrugged, tugging at her skirt.  "If I start blushing now I may never, ever stop….."  The detective's daughter had a sudden rebellious light in her eyes; the set of her jaw made her look remarkably like her attorney mother._

Sato hesitated, then squared her shoulders with a what-the-hell nod.  She was still feeling slightly off-kilter and edgy due to adrenaline, and besides—if they managed this right, nobody she knew would see her dressed like this _anyway.  Not even Takagi-kun (although a tiny voice from somewhere in the back of her brain made certain suggestions about that which she smacked down for later consideration)._

Each taking a deep breath, the two young women marched defiantly out of the Ladies Room back into the restaurant.  The staff and clientele stared—the manager stared—even the robber stared.  Ran and Sato stared back, arms folded and shoulder to shoulder in their new outfits.  For a long moment no-one said anything at all…..

Sato leveled a diamond-hard glare straight at the manager's face.  "We," she ground out, "are just concerned citizens who happened to be present during an attempted robbery.  You can tell the police when they arrive that we'll be getting in touch with the authorities later this evening.  _Understand?"  Mentally she congratulated herself on leaving her father's antique handcuffs at home that morning._

The eyes of the staff, clientele and robber swiveled towards the manager, whose eyes had glazed over; he shook himself from his contemplation of Ran's lace-edged camisole with an effort.  "…Of… of course."

"Fine.  We'll be on our way then.  And—ah—thank you for the… garments.  I'll be sure to drop a reimbursement in the mail later."  Still smelling strongly of Hoi-Sin sauce, the two lingerie-garbed young women turned as one towards the door; they were outside, in the squadcar and peeling away from the parking lot before the manager could even begin to formulate a reply.

***********************************************************************

Another stop, another set of passengers…..  

The bus was still mostly empty, though; this time the driver had gotten up and was  Conan yawned, idly eavesdropping on the American girls again (they were deep in a discussion over the merits of various seiyuu celebrities now).  _*Man, this trip is taking forever.  Wonder what time it is?*_

Beside him Takagi was peering out the window through the downpour, frowning;  "What's wrong?"

The young officer shook his head, a slightly mystified look on his rather boyish face.  "Just thought I saw a squadcar pull out of that restaurant…" he muttered.  "Not sure—oh well."  He shrugged.

A clatter and slight commotion at the front of the bus caught both their attention just then; passengers boarding.  The driver had exited the vehicle to assist some elderly person or other up the steps, an old woman with a walker, carefully supported from behind by a grey-haired man with a raddled, lined face.  The driver moved politely aside to allow his passengers to pass; breathing heavily, the old woman rested for a moment against the side of the driver's seat as her companion fumbled first with change and then with the walker, placing it before her.  Without a word the two continued down the aisle, passing the driver in silence to find seats near the front.

As they passed, Conan noticed something odd: as they passed, the driver started slightly, staring hard at their faces; he seemed to be struggling with some thought or memory.  After a moment, though, he shook his head and tugged his cap back down over his graying hair as he headed back to his seat.  

Conan mentally shrugged; nothing to worry about.  He settled back with a bored sigh.

One last thing caught his attention, however, as the busdriver took his place; the man *jumped* slightly in his seat, jerking forward with a faint exclamation and a reflexive reaching of a hand behind him towards his back…..  Then he squared his shoulders and settled back into the seat.  The last passenger (a young mother with a thin, crying infant) sat down, and the bus was on its way again with a shudder.

Beside him he heard a muttered imprecation.  Takagi had just pulled his Incident Book from his inner jacket pocket and was morosely examining the blurred writing.  Apparently the ink hadn't been waterproof.  "Guess I'll need a new one of these," he said glumly.  "Damn; this was my lucky notebook, too….."

Conan gave him a Look from beneath his bangs.  "You have a lucky notebook?"  Takagi just flushed slightly and refused to reply, stuffing the soggy block of paper back into his pocket.  He swayed a little as the bus lurched over a bump.

"Conan?"

"Hmm?"  The boy glanced up; Takagi had gone back to staring out the windows.  "What?" he asked absentmindedly, thinking that maybe another nap wouldn't be such a bad idea…

"Does Ran know about you?  I mean, about how you're actually Ku—ITAII!!  What was _that for?!?"  The boy had punched him in the side with one small, sharp fist.  Angrily the young cop glared at him, only to find himself facing a pair of very wide awake, heated blue eyes._

"Don't _ever talk about that in a public place!!" he hissed, the quiet, sharp tones so completely unchildlike that Takagi's rebuttal froze on his tongue.  "You don't know who could be listening—and no, she does __not know, and I plan on keeping it that way."  The boy shook his head in sudden exasperation; "What the hell brought __that question on??"_

"Sorry…" muttered the young man, rubbing at his side (the boy was surprisingly strong for his size).  "I was wondering what they were doing…  She really doesn't know?  Isn't that, well, kind of awkward?"

Conan slumped back against the seat, shifting as the bus lurched heavily again.  "You have no idea.  I mean, I have to keep this goddamn act up _all the time.  It gets really, really wearing… but I don't have a choice."  He sighed, running a grubby fish-smelling hand through his hair; Takagi found himself watching that hand—it was so __small.  "I told you about the, ah—" (and the boy glanced around him at his fellow passengers, who all seemed to be intent on their own business) "—Organization, so you *know* what I'm up against; if it ever got back to them that—"  The bus lurched again; Conan paused, gripped the edge of the seat with one hand, and continued: "—that I was still alive, she'd be in danger and so would a lot of other people.  So no, she __doesn't know, and that's how it has to— AAACK!"_

_THIS time the bus had swerved sharply, throwing the boy hard against Takagi; the young officer grabbed the small body reflexively, hanging on as the heavy vehicle bounced off a curb and wobbled along the side of the road.  A shudder and resounding screech indicated that a roadsign had been sideswiped and was digging into the bus's metal sides; the shaken passengers shouted in varying stages of alarm (several had nodded off), and as the bus staggered to a gradual halt they began calling for the driver….._

….. who seemed to be in trouble; he was fighting against his seatbelt, arms flailing wildly, grabbing at his throat—

"Takagi!"  The boy grabbed at his companion's arm and pointed.  Swearing, the young cop stumbled to his feet and headed for the driver, half-aware of the small figure following right behind him.

Cries and imprecations filled the air as people picked themselves up from wherever the rough stoppage had put them; the three American girls were large-eyed but apparently unhurt, the teenager with the headphones was complaining loudly and waving her shattered CD player in one hand.  The dockworkers were looking hard at towards the driver, and the white-collar type was hunting for his glasses beneath the seats.  The elderly couple were huddled together, looking stolid and a little frightened, the man holding tightly to his withered companion with a shaking arm.

_*Sure hope nobody has a heart attack or something like that—heart attack?  Is that the problem here--?!?*  Takagi reached the driver; the man was making thick, choking sounds and clawing at his windpipe with both hands.  His back was arching and his sallow complexion had become an ugly, blotchy red; as his eyes rolled back and he fell over limply to slump over the seatbelt, the young policeman worked hard to unfasten the buckles…_

… as the driver's head fell forward to strike the steering-wheel with a dull thud.  His arms hung loose and slack at his side, and he half-slid from the seat in the utter, boneless flaccidity of the unconscious into Takagi's grasp.  The officer gently pulled him down to the aisle floor, tearing open the driver's collar and feeling anxiously for a pulse.

Nothing; _*Dammit!*  Without thinking about it he got ready to begin CPR, clearing the man's airway and tilting his head back—_

"Blotches… he's gone clammy, his lips look swollen—Takagi—"  He ignored the low mutter beside him, compressing the man's chest rhythmically and forcing air into his lungs; behind him he could hear an alarmed clamor of voices as his fellow passengers tried to figure out what was happening.

_*Breath, dammit, breath!  Oh c'mon, guy, don't die on me--*_

Too late.  Not even a flutter of pulse.  Takagi kept on for a few more minutes, unwilling to give up.  _*Please--*_

"Takagi.  _Takagi.  Stop it—he's gone."  The quiet voice at his shoulder made him pull back with a frustrated snap, and he jerked his head around to stare into Conan's serious face.  "That's enough, Takagi."_

It was enough, and more than enough.  Not all the CPR in the world would help now.

"He's dead."

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Detective Takagi Wataru slumped on the bench at the front of the bus, listening vaguely to the excited babble behind him.  The baby was crying, the three American girls were talking together in an incomprehensible jangle of English, the dockworkers were arguing whether or not someone should go call for help---

_*Not necessary… we're already here, supposedly.*  He had shown them his badge (it had fortunately weathered the rain somewhat better than his Occurrence Book, though in the same pocket), which had quieted things down a bit.  The use of the white-collar worker's cellphone had not gotten through to anywhere, though, not even Emergency Services—apparently the worsening storm outside the windows was knocking out communications all over the place._

Takagi sighed, rubbing tiredly at one eye with the back of a rather stained and dirty hand; he had a feeling that his appearance had _not added to his fellow passengers' opinion of Tokyo Metro._

Well, fine; he could deal with that later.  Right now he was more concerned with the limp figure that lay sprawled across the bus floor.  The young officer grimaced at the sight, then glanced over at the object that had apparently ended the driver's life so horribly…..

A bee.  Just an insect, small and half-crushed, lying in the driver's seat.  They had found a card in the man's wallet listing medical conditions and allergies, and an extreme reaction to bee-venom had been first on the list.  The poor guy had croaked from anaphylactic shock, a truly hideous way to die.

_*Death by bee-sting; that's really pathetic.*  The insect must have flown in and landed on the seat when the driver got up to help the old lady up the stairs—_

"No it didn't."

"Huh?"  Takagi hadn't even been aware that he had been thinking out loud.  "It didn't?"

Conan frowned up at him; the boy had crouched beside him while he wrote the details down in his still-soggy Occurrence Book with an oddly expressionless face, watching the still-warm corpse as if expecting it to sit up and talk.  Ignoring the somewhat horrified attempts of several of the passengers to draw him back away, the apparent gradeschooler had carefully examined the driver's seat, the bee that Takagi had found, the carpet below the seat, the steering mechanisms….. everything.

It had been… _interesting, watching him examine the scene of the death—seeing the little boy that he had known as Conan for all these months, but for the *first time* __really seeing him…..  And all the while, knowing that the mind behind the eyes was actually that of one of the present day's great detecting geniuses, no matter his appearance….._

Oh yeah; it had been interesting.  But—why all the concern?  Wasn't it obvious that the guy had died as a result of his allergy?  What the hell did the kid—that is, Kudo—mean by "No it didn't" fly in?

He eyed the boy, quirking one eyebrow in invitation.

Conan turned to stare down at the half-crushed bee.  "Look at it, Takagi," he said softly.  "It's not damp at all—bees are hairy, and you'd expect some moisture to show up on its body-hairs.  But there's none.  And also—" he tugged at the man's jacket with one small hand, drawing him down closer; the policeman knelt, frowning.  "Touch it, Takagi—"

Hesitantly the young detective brushed the tiny, deadly carcass with a finger.  "It's—stiff," he said, surprised.  "Sort of dry."

"Right."  The boy drew a deep breath, turning a most unchildlike, serious gaze on his companion.  "It's dead, and it's been dead a long time.  See that mark in the center?  If I'm not mistaken, that's from a pin—this bee was a _specimen, mounted in a collection somewhere—hell, there's even dust on the wings!" _

As he spoke, the clear, treble tones seemed to deepen a little, becoming less and less boyish; the words were more clipped, more certain, and the dark blue eyes shone cold and sharp as they picked out details.  It was what some people would call uncanny… and it was nearly enough to make a grown man shiver.  Takagi wondered briefly if Kudo—Conan—realized what kind of reaction he drew from those watching him.

_*No, of course not; he's paying attention to the case, and only the case…..  That's all that matters, right now, to him.*_

And there _was a case, apparently._

"So…..  If the bee was dead, it didn't sting him.  No other bees, huh?"  Takagi recalled the boy's cursory glance around the bus floor.  "Then something else killed him."

"One other thing—"

"Huh?  What?"  Takagi looked up from his contemplation of the dead bee, meeting the edged, laser-blue gaze.

The boy shook his head.  "Nobody dies of anaphylactic shock that quickly, not normally; no bee carries that much venom.  His reaction was too quick for the stimulus to be anything but local—it didn't start a while ago and just suddenly peak or anything like that.  Whatever killed this man was _not natural.  Therefore….."_

Takagi stood slowly, finishing his sentence for him; the passenger's voices faded into a blur of meaningless background noise.  "Therefore….. this is a murder."

***********************************************************************

_To Be Continued……_

**_Ysabet's_****_ Notes:__  Don't kill me for this one, okay?  Any random weirdness and character-bashing is the result of dealing with Mental Health Site Reviews documentation and WAAAY too many autopsy reports at work— I had to take the stress out somewhere, right?  (sweatdrop)  Errrr, anyway…… if you think things are strange now, just wait._**


	3. Modus Operandi

**Conversations Among Ghosts**

**By Ysabet**

_(I am going to SO get flamed for what I've done to Ran and Sato in this… (author falls over in fits of giggles, then barricades self in room with piles of manga)  I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not.  So I won't.)_

_Part 3:  Modus Operandi_

It was a dark and stormy night.

_*Big surprise THERE,* thought Conan, staring at the falling rain; it made halos around the streetlight above the bus-stop, but he didn't exactly feel like appreciating the effect just then.  __*WHY,* he asked the raindrops rhetorically, __*do murders seem to attract bad weather?  I'd swear stormclouds follow homicides like starving puppies sometimes.*  The boy wiped at a trickle of cold water that was persisting in running down his cheek and dripping off of his chin._

_*I mean, let's think about this.  Just how many times have I run across a body outside of a house or apartment or whatever that's been in beautiful, sunny surroundings?  Very few, that's how many.  It's not like it matters to the victim, I guess, but…..  It's either dark, raining, snowing, sleeting, foggy or any combination of the above.  And when it IS nice out, the body always seems to be indoors, which is Big Time unfair.*  He sneezed, sniffling dismally.  __*God, I'd love a cup of coffee right now.*_

Apparently the gods were listening (and possibly in an apologetic mood), as a sudden, utterly  wonderful aroma wafted through the sodden air to make the faux gradeschooler blink and look up.  The fall of rain was cut off by the introduction of an umbrella overhead, and a warm Styrofoam cup was suddenly thrust into his cold hands.  "Here."

The boy sighed, warming his small fingers and breathing in the coffee-scent with appreciation.  "Thanks….. you're a mind-reader, you know that?"

Detective Takagi Wataru snorted briefly, pushing back his tangle of rain-damp hair from his eyes; the young officer shook his head.  "I've yet to meet a cop or a detective that didn't start looking for something like coffee or tea sooner or later when they were working on a case; figured you wouldn't be an exception."   He hesitated then for a second, eyeing his diminutive companion's size.  "Ahh--  You know, I sort of _forgot for a minute there about you being… small.  Should I have tried to get you something else, like—I don't know, milk or something?"_

Conan shot him a distinctly dirty look.  "Coffee is *fine*," he said firmly, taking a long swallow.

The officer shrugged apologetically and pulled a rather mangled napkin-wrapped packet from one pocket.   "Okay… want a donut?" he offered; the boy accepted the unspoken apology along with the slightly squashed pastry gratefully.

"Where'd you get this stuff, anyway?" he asked, munching; powdered sugar decorated his chin.

The detective nodded up at one of the bus-windows.  "The dockworkers—one of 'em had a thermos and some cups, and another one said his wife runs a little stand near the station downtown—she gets a lot of cops as customers."  He studied his own doughnut, taking another bite.  "Western stuff, mostly— thought he looked familiar; I guess I've seen him when I was picking up breakfast once or twice."

Conan took another deep swig of his coffee and sighed as warmth seeped through his small frame.  "Cops and donuts; that's a terrible stereotype, you know….."

The detective just shrugged.  "Beats going hungry, right?  You _did say you wanted something to eat a while back."_

The two figures stood just outside of the bus-steps, their backs to the vehicle; if either had turned to look over their shoulders, they would have been able to see the corpse of the bus-driver lying on the floor beside his seat.  Some kind soul had covered the man's swollen features with a handkerchief, but otherwise he lay as he had fallen, half-blocking the aisle.   The passengers of the bus had gradually sort of clumped together, moving from their scattered seats to form a subdued sort of huddle; their murmur of alarmed conversation was just audible over the continual drumbeat of the rain on the metal roof.

Takagi tilted the umbrella he had borrowed so that the rain guttered itself off behind them both; a steady stream splashed onto the already puddled ground.  "So….. murder."  The words hung in the damp air, heavy as raindrops and quite as cold.

The boy beside him nodded, swallowing the last of his doughnut.  "Definitely.  That bee's been dead for quite a while—there's no way it stung that man.  He looks like he died of anaphylactic shock, but it wasn't from an innocent insect sting."

The young officer considered, rubbing his rather grimy hands against the warmth of his own cup.  "Huh; it had to have happened since we boarded—the guy was fine then.  Nobody's gotten off, so whoever administered the poison has to still be on the bus.  Makes things a *lot* simpler, really….."

Conan shrugged; "Don't count on it.  Whoever planned this went to some trouble if they knew about the driver's allergy—planting that bee was pretty smart.  If this had been a regular investigation the bee would've been picked up and bagged with a set of tweezers, and by the time it was examined it would've dried out anyway—even the hole could have been passed off as damage by the tweezers."  He ran one hand through his soggy hair in frustration, then smiled a little wryly up at the detective.  "Y'know, it's interesting—this is the first time I've had the chance to investigate a case and not had to hide what I was doing from you.  It's a hell of a lot easier this way….."  He chuckled a little wanly, taking another swallow of coffee.  "It's nice to be treated like _ME instead of some sort of child prodigy for a change."_

The officer eyed him.  "Yeah, well, it's sort of nice not to be wondering if you're some sort of mutant, too, you know?"  Beside him Conan snorted softly, then went back to his thoughts.  For a while there was very little sound but the rain coming down.

Takagi glanced sideways and down at his companion's expression; the boy was frowning a bit, eyes intent on something he was seeing inside that analytical brain of his.  The young face was almost uncannily calm, eerily focused in concentration—the rain and chill might be making him miserable, but that was secondary to the puzzle that had set his internal gears in motion.  The mystery was the important thing at the moment.

That was not a child's face.

It was times like this that Takagi wondered somewhat shamefacedly if his parents might have dropped him on his head as an infant.  _HOW the hell had he ever mistaken the figure beside him for a real kid?  Kids didn't have expressions like that; kids didn't act so casually around a corpse, or slip under your radar and find clues or give hints or nudge you into thinking about details.  Kids didn't drink coffee….._

"Takagi-san?  Errrr, Takagi-keiji?"  The gruff voice behind him made him jump; he swore internally as he sloshed his own cooling coffee down one sleeve as he turned.  "Yes?"  The young officer tried not to sound too annoyed as he surreptitiously shook liquid from his fingers.

"You got an ambulance coming?  And… when can we go?  My wife's gonna have fits if I don't get home soon—"  The burly dockworker's stubbled face was beginning to crease a little from irritation, but at least he was being polite.  A booming rattle of thunder made both men wince; hurriedly the dockworker pulled his head back into the overhang of the bus.  He stared at the oddly still little boy beside the detective, his eyebrows lowering.  "Hey, kid—why don't you come inside, anyway?  You're gonna catch a cold out there….."   His words trailed off as the boy turned to look at him, and he frowned even more.  "Is that _*coffee* you're drinking, kid?  Hey, what're you doing, giving a kid coffee?"  The man leveled an accusatory glare at Takagi, making him huddle guiltily deeper into his soaked jacket._

Before he could reply a small, slightly sulky voice piped up beside him; he jumped slightly.  "It's mostly milk….. and it's _hot, too…..  My niichan said to drink it so I'd stay warm."  From the corner of his eye the detective saw one child-sized hand slide surreptitiously over the top of the cup to hide the dark and distinctly non-milklike contents; Takagi swallowed, trying to force a good poker face to the front.  The little-boy voice next to him continued, becoming more cheerful.  "Besides, it's good—and ALL the cops down at the Police Station drink it, don't they?  Right, niichan?"_

Takagi winced again internally, shifting the umbrella a little.  "Uhhhh, right.  You'll make a good cop someday… otochan."  Calling Conan/Kudo his younger brother made him feel distinctly unsettled, but he managed a hopeful smile for the dockworker.  "The kid follows me everywhere, you know—?  Can't shake him, no matter what I do….."

The man still eyed them both a bit doubtfully, but he nodded and grinned a little back at last.  "Yeah, I know what you mean—got a couple of little brothers myself.  They always try and imitate their own niichan."  He chuckled, backing up the steps.  "So, kid:  you wanna be a cop someday?"

The boy shrugged, some of the little-boy cuteness fading from his face as if washed away by the rain.  "I guess…..  Just let me grow up first; then we'll see what I become."  He dropped his gaze, staring into his coffee from beneath his bangs and swirling the dregs a little; the no-longer steaming liquid reflected his face in miniature, dark blue eyes mere ovals of black against the pallor of his face.

Takagi forced back a small shiver not born of the damp; the sadness and irony in the words wasn't for everyone to hear or understand, but _he was aware of it.  *'__Just let me grow up first'…..  Poor __guy.__*  He hesitated for a moment, then dropped a hand lightly on the boy's shoulder.  "Let's go back in, hmm, Conan-kun?"_

The slight, childish form was still for a second or two; then it shook itself as if surfacing from something unpleasant and the young face tilted up towards his again, regarding him quietly.  "Okay…"  He lagged behind just a little, following Takagi back up the stairs; as he hoisted himself up from the asphalt, the detective thought he heard him mutter "… and thanks…" very softly.  The officer nodded briefly to himself.  _*You're welcome, Kudo.*_

***********************************************

_***crackle-pop!***  ***fzzt!!***  "—vehicles in the vicinity of the Hikaru and Tsubaki intersection, please respond---  All vehicles in the vicinity of the Hikaru and Tsubaki intersection, please respond—"  ***fzzt-pop!!***_

Detective Sato Miwako sighed and reached for the squadcar's microphone.  "Sato here….  I'm pretty close to Hikaru and Tsubaki—  Situation, please?"  Beside her Mouri Ran frowned, shifting impatiently in her seat and trying for the umpteenth time to tug her skirt a little lower.

The radio sizzled and chattered with static; the bad weather was playing merry hell with communications tonight, apparently.

_***zzzzzztzzt!!!***  "Code 813, Takoya's Service Station— a silent alarm signal has been received--"   The rest of the sentence sputtered into crackling incoherency.  Sato thumped the radio with one knuckle, then grumbled a little and broadcasted her affirmative; she pulled the car over onto the median and turned around, heading back the way they had come._

"Code 813?" inquired Ran as politely as possible; she _really wanted to get home before somebody saw her in her current state of dishevelment._

"Burglary call," answered Sato, rubbing tiredly at her eyes.  "I really hate to have to drag you along on this, but if I'm the closest officer I have to answer."  She shrugged.  "It'll probably be nothing… and this should be a one-squadcar stop, so nobody'll see us….."

The detective's daughter grimaced in relief, then yawned a little; what with psycho bombers, flat tires, attempted robberies and impromptu showers of food, this had been the longest day in the _world.  *Well, at least I don't have to worry about Conan-kun; he's safe with Detective Takagi,* she reminded herself, brushing a damp strand of hair back from her eyes.  __*He DEFINITELY doesn't need to see me dressed like this—  Of course, he's just an innocent little kid; it wouldn't mean anything to him, but he'd be curious and ask embarrassing questions…..*_

_*Now, if it were Shinichi who was going to see me, on the other hand…..*  She blushed a little as her mind veered off on a slightly wicked tangent.  __*I wonder if Sato-kun feels that way about Takagi seeing her?*  She suppressed a smile, glancing sideways at her lingerie-clad companion; it wasn't like Ran was *blind*, after all….._

….. though both Takagi and Sato _were, apparently….._

It was a good number of kilometers back to the service station, and Ran must have fallen into a light doze during most of the trip; the next thing she knew was the splash of the squadcar's tires through deep puddles as they pulled into the streetlight-lit parking lot.  She yawned again, blinking out at the rain.  "Sato-kun?  Should I stay here or--?"

The officer shook her head firmly.  "Stay in the car.  I really don't think this will take very long—enough time has passed since the alarm went off that any self-respecting burglar should practically be in Hokkaido by now."  She slid out the door, making a face as her sandals splashed down into a deep, cold puddle; for both of the two young women their shoes were the only remaining traces of their regular wardrobes.

Ran sighed, closing her eyes once more.  The rain beat down on the roof of the vehicle, a soothing, steady thrum; it was enough to lull even the most ragged of nerves into quietude…..  God, but this had been a horrible day.  The whole thing with Conan being stuck in the elevator—she hadn't even _known about that until after it was over.  And then there was the attempted bombing of her school…..  Why, she wondered  drowsily, hadn't she known about her possible impending doom until afterwards?  No, that was silly; it wasn't like psychotic bombers tended to make appointments with you to blow you to smithereens---  _

She yawned again; her breathing deepened as she dozed.  Outside, the rain continued to fall.

Ran's overtired mind was in the process of setting up a rather disturbing dream in which she was taking calls from Shinichi's enemies at her father's office (_"Moshi moshi…..  Oh, Mr. Moriya?  Of course I remember you, sir, you're that nice architect who tried to blow us up on Shinichi's birthday….  __3 p.m.__ on Tuesday?  Let me check…..  No, I'm sorry, you'll have to try to kill Shinichi some other time, he's booked with Hideki the Mad Poisoner of __Okinawa__ then, and I believe the rest of the day is taken as well—we're so busy at this time of year!  The holidays, you know…..  How about Wednesday morning?  Yes, that'll be fine…..  We'll be expecting you, see you then.  Jaa ne!") when Sato opened the door and slid back inside.   "Mmph??"  The teenager shook the unpleasant fog of dream-traces from her mind as she hastily sat up.  "Is everything alright?"_

Sato was frowning, a deeply perplexed expression on her face; absently she fingered her camisole-strap, running one fingernail along the satin.  "Not… exactly.  No, not *quite* all right….."

The teenager struggled to shake herself awake; no good, she was still so _sleepy…..  "Uhm, what's wrong?"_

Silently the detective displayed a soggy, dripping item—it appeared to be a billfold, much the worse for wear.  Flipping it open with a spray of droplets she tilted it so the plasticized driver's license inside caught the dim light:  _Wataru__, Takagi.  Ran blinked._

Takagi?  Her brain just wasn't *working* yet.  "What--?"

Sato stared down at the muddy leather wallet; she folded it closed, then leaned over to carefully place it in the glove compartment, shutting the hatch with a sharp _snap!  "It was lying on the ground behind the station, right next to the back door…..  The door was open—that's what triggered the alarm—but I didn't see any signs of forcible entry."  The detective's brows were drawn down in concentration and worry._

Ran was awake _now; she turned to stare out at the station as if it could tell her tales.  "Did you see—was there anything else??"  __*Conan?  Are you alright?  Please be alright!!*_

"No….."  Sato also stared at the station, a crinkle of worry between her eyes.  "Now _why would his wallet be lying there?"  She started the car, a grim look in her eyes.  "The last place we saw Takagi and Conan-kun was at the cemetery—that's right down the road.  Why don't we pay a little visit?"_

Ten minutes later they had found Takagi's old clunker of a car; the pooling oil that washed the gravel beneath the vehicle glittered blackly in Sato's flashlight beam, telling its own tale.  "Well…..  I guess that explains why they went to the service station," muttered the officer, glaring irritably at the ground; only the tightening of her fists betrayed the worry accompanying her irritation.  Of course, it didn't help matters that both she and Ran had managed to decorate their shoes with black, oily stains; their personal aromas of soy-sauce and kimchee now had a new, automotive note.  "They must have hoofed it to the station and found the place closed—"

"--- and then what?"  Ran scowled, kicking a clump of mud from one shoe-sole; it landed with a dull _splash! in a nearby oily puddle.  After a second her eyes widened.  "The bus-stop?  I remember seeing a bus just ahead of us after we left the restaurant….."_

Detective Sato rolled her eyes.  "Assuming Takagi-kun had enough sense _and change in his pockets to hop a bus, they should be back in town by now.  I don't think we need to worry about them too much at this point….."  _

She turned to stomp back towards the car; an echoing roll of thunder rumbled overhead like God's own bowling alley—the rain was worsening-- and Ran caught a faint mutter from the other woman under the hiss of falling water:  

_"--- stupid man, if he'd just stay in one place long enough---  I need to *talk* to him, dammit---"_

The girl hid a smile, wiping cold droplets from her cheek that her umbrella had not caught.  Without another word she followed her companion back to the car.

As they drove away from the cemetery, lightning crackled theatrically overhead; Ran shivered, tugging her short jacket closer around her shoulders (not that it did much good, considering that damp satin is a chilly thing to wear).  "So….. now what?  Shall we head home?"

Sato shrugged.  "Sounds like a good idea to me….."  Her tone turned a little irritable as she continued.  "Maybe if we're lucky we can catch up with Takagi and Conan-kun…..  they're probably down at the station house right now, drinking something nice and hot."  She sighed, and the sound had a certain wistfulness to it.

Outside the squadcar the city limits were beginning—a rather unsavory area, full of bars and late-night clubs.  Ran had seldom been in this part of the city other than just passing through; she shivered again, glad to be inside and safe.  After a moment, a thought made her eye the detective beside her a little speculatively, one eyebrow quirked up.  "Are you _sure you want Takagi-kun to see you dressed like that?  Won't he be shocked?" she teased, allowing her amusement to show in her voice._

Her companion hesitated; a flush stole across her face and her ears grew pink.  "He's my partner," she said firmly (if a little hastily); "We've done a lot of undercover work—he's seen me in similar outfits before when we were cleaning up a prostitution ring, only they were more… tacky than this is."  The detective's eyes sparkled a little with something other than embarrassment then, and she opened her mouth to continue, turning even pinker.  "Truth to tell, Ran-kun….. I've….. well, I've been thinking about—  that is…..  Takagi-kun, he's, ahhh……"  Her blush deepened and she struggled for words.

The teenager's ears all but perked up.  "Yes, Sato-kun?" she asked, trying to be casual.  _*Go for it, Sato-kun!  It's about time!* Internally she danced with glee._

"Ummm…..   Ran-kun?  I know you're a lot younger than I am, but….. from another female perspective… what do you think of Takagi-kun?"  The detective's slender fingers tightened on the steering wheel and she stared fixedly at the road before her.

Ran twitched slightly, fighting down the impulse to start applauding enthusiastically; she was beginning to think like Sonoko.  "I think he's… well, he's really cute, especially when he blushes—" (she watched Sato blush a little herself)  "--and he's smart, and I don't believe he's capable of lying at _all, and I think—"_

**_***BLAMMM!!!  Flop-flop-flop-flop-flop…..***_**

"—I think we've just blown a tire.  _Again….."_

With a snarl of frustration and a few choice profanities that would have greatly surprised her partner, Detective Sato Miwako steered the wavering squadcar to the side of the road; water, mud and scraps of paper splashed across the sidewalk as it came to rest in a noisome puddle.  She leaned forward as the engine cut off, thumping her forehead on the steering wheel in frustration—somehow it seemed to convey exactly just how she felt, so she did it again a few times and would have continued except for Ran's intervention.

"Wonderful.  _WONDERFUL.  And we've __USED the spare; Somebody just shoot me now."  Sato groaned and slumped in her seat, rubbing at her forehead.  "Did I ever mention that I really hate driving in the rain?"_

Mouri Ran gave her a wan smile, tucking away the cursewords into her memory for potential future use; considering how the evening was going, cursing was a definite possibility.  "Well, good… since it doesn't look like we're going to be driving anywhere at _all after this….."_

The officer growled, glaring out through the rain-streaked windows at the unsavory neighborhood around them.  Bars, unlit buildings, derelict alleys awash with floating garbage, street debris and worse things…..  _*What a wonderful place to break down.  @#$%@#$&!!!*   _

Her eyes flickered to her radio and she paused, thinking aloud.  "If I call somebody from the station, they'll come out to fix the tire or pick us up….. but they'll also _see us… and personally, I'd rather take my chances with the locals.  At least they don't know us."  She winced, thinking of the gossip that would be floating around work if she was caught in her current outfit (and GOD FORBID that anybody had a camera handy…)_

Beside her Ran shuddered.  The dark streets were unprepossessing in the extreme, and the rain was still coming down in gusts; all things considered, though…..  She pictured her father's face when she arrived home in her new 'wardrobe'; while it was *almost* worth it, just to see the look on his face (she was seventeen, after all, and beginning to get a little tired of being considered his Little Girl), she really didn't like the thought of dealing with the cardiac arrest that would probably follow.  Mouri was a real pain when he was sick.

"Well….." she thought hard, biting her lip.  "Do you know _any place around here that'd be safe for us to wait while we call a taxi?  This doesn't exactly look like the best neighborhood in Japan, but--  If we can get a taxi we could go back to your place, and if you don't mind my borrowing your shower and some clothes—"_

Sato almost smiled.  "Ran-kun, you're a genius.  Let's see, safe places, safe places—not too many of _those in this neighborhood, not for a pair of women dressed like….. like….."_

"Oh.  _Women.  Right!"  She suddenly sat up straight, a peculiar look crossing her face.  _

"We could…  I don't know, though, Mouri-san might murder me….. of course, if he never found out about it….."  The dim flicker of a sputtering streetlight overhead glittered in her eyes.  "Ran-kun?"

_*That tone of voice…*  "--What?"  Ran was beginning to get a little nervous._

"There's _*ONE* place around here where we could go that I can absolutely guarantee we won't be, ahhh, molested at…" said Sato slowly.  "It's not exactly…..  If Mouri-san EVER finds out we went there my life won't be worth a ten-yen piece, I can promise you.  But we'll be safe, we could probably get some hot coffee there—AND we can use the phone to get that taxi."  She sighed in frustration, rubbing at her eyes.  "I can't believe I'm even considering this….."_

Ran looked out at the dark, dangerous neighborhood; any port in a storm and all that, though she was beginning to wonder why the idea was making Sato-san sound so tentative.  "It sounds good to me.  What is it, a café or something?  Is it far?" __

Sato grabbed up her umbrella, opening the door; there was a disgusting, chilly _splash! as she stepped out into the ankle-deep puddle that surrounded the car.  "A couple of blocks or so.  And no-- not a café.  Not __exactly…..  It's, well, sort of a bar—  Takagi and I went there a month or so back to pick up a witness.  The __Blue Oyster."_

Ran's eyes widened.  "A… bar?"

Sato avoided her eyes.  "A rather _specialized type of bar, yes."  She paused a second, kicking a scrap of soggy something-better-left-unidentified from her shoe.  "And, err, Ran-kun?"_

Her companion shivered and did her best to avoid her own half of the puddle with no success; much bigger and it would have qualified as a lake.  She muttered one of Sato's cursewords as she sloshed her way towards the haven of the umbrella; it sounded good.  Many more evenings like this and she could get *used* to cursing.  "Hm?  What?"

"If any of the guys inside are wearing anything a bit… **_unusual__… don't say anything about it, okay?  Other than 'nice dress,' maybe….."_**

***********************************************

The rain was coming down in _sheets now; Conan looked up at the sky through the bus windows, wondering silently which god he had offended.  He had always considered the term "it's pouring outside" to be pure semantics, but it really *did* look as if somebody had just taken a bottomless bucket and just upended it over Tokyo.  He could hardly even see the street—_

For want of anything better to do, he turned to watch Takagi as he wrote the last of his notes down in his slightly soggy Occurance Book:  position of the body, positive indicators of death, names and phone numbers of witnesses, their accounts of what they had seen—all the minutiae of a murder.  One of the few benefits of being child-sized all over again was the lack of paperwork one had to fill out; he didn't envy Takagi the pile that would be waiting for him when he got back to the stationhouse.

The detective tucked his pen back into the wire spiral that topped the notebook, glancing up at the last of his witnesses (the girl with the CD player, now badly damaged).  She sulked back into her seat, somewhat disgruntled that she wouldn't be allowed to leave.  Conan couldn't see why, not unless she was planning to swim for it—at least the inside of the bus was warm and dry.

_*Some people are never satisfied.  Maybe it's her present company that's making her want to leave, though…*  He spared a brief glance for the chilling body on the floor; it lay sprawled in the absolute stillness of the dead, an __object, no longer a person—hard to believe that the silent form had been upright and driving a bus less than two hours before.  That was death for you.  _

_*Or, of course, maybe she's the murderer.  SOMEbody killed that guy--*_

He had to remember that; the dead man had once been _alive and breathing.  It was so easy to forget that little fact once the person was dead—the human mind shied away from thinking of a corpse as a former living thing.  It was so much simpler, so much more comforting to think of a victim as "the body"._

A grunt and the _sproing of cushion-springs beside him announced Takagi's weary drop onto the bus seat.  "All finished?" said the boy softly.  _

The officer grunted in affirmative, running a tired hand through his hair and making it stand even more on end.  "Yeah.  Not much to go on—nobody on the bus knew the driver well, most of 'em weren't regulars except for the dockworkers, no reported past records or anything like that."  His boyish face was beginning to show his fatigue; the bus hadn't been full by any means, but there had been enough passengers to make the last little while a fairly miserable, if routine and boring, time.  "I still can't figure out why the _hell anybody would try to make the driver's death look like a medical reaction to a beesting—I mean, that's not a normal kind of death; it'd draw attention right away….."_

Conan frowned, chewing on his lip; he tugged his glasses off and turned them over in his fingers a time or two absently, closing the frames and allowing the streetlights outside to reflect in smeary orange blazes across each lens.  "Maybe… _because it would draw attention…" he said slowly; "If the death was obviously attributable to an odd but visible cause, no-one would think to look any further.  The only reason I noticed anything odd about that bee was because I touched it and felt how stiff it was—well, that and the weather; if today had been sunny….."  He left the sentence unfinished; if the day had been sunny, the chance of a bee flying into the vehicle and stinging the driver would have been considerably greater, and the chances of the murder being thought a simple death by happenstance would have also increased._

His companion nodded gloomily.  "Yeah; makes sense."  He tilted his head back, shoving his straggling hair away from his forehead with one ink-stained hand.  "Okay….. so the murderer has to be one of the people on the bus. "  Takagi hesitated, shooting the boy a sideways glance.  "Ah—did you notice anything odd about anybody?  I know you well enough by now to know you've been thinking about it… and that's even if you _were really a little kid.  You'd still be thinking about it."_

Conan snorted, but the sound held little amusement.  "Yeah, well…..  There were one or two oddities, actually."  He paused, twisting a bit in his seat until he was kneeling on the cushion and able to peer over the back at the rest of the bus's occupants, who were for the most part either sitting silently or deeply involved in worried conversation.  Keeping his voice low, the boy continued…

"First off, I wouldn't count too much on the truth of some of what your witnesses said; for instance, the 'no past record' bit…..  Did you get a look at all of the dockworker's hands?"  Takagi frowned, thinking hard; he shook his head.  "The one who passed me this jacket had ballpoint-ink tattoos on the backs—old gang symbols, I think, the kinds you get in prison.  From what I understand they used to be seen only in America, but they seem to be making their way over here…  He seemed like a pretty nice guy, but—well.  And then there's that factory worker, the white-collar type—you know, the nervous one.  Didn't you notice?  He's hiding something….."

As a matter of fact, Takagi _had noticed, and he had a pretty good idea what the man's little secret was.  "Yeah, well… the fact that he's wearing a wedding ring *and* smelling of cheap perfume sort of gave him away, especially after he told me where he lives and that he'd been 'visiting friends on his way home from work'.  Sounds like he's got a mistress socked away between the factory and the front door somewhere….."_

The boy raised one eyebrow.  "Yeah, well, the fact that he's got lipstick-stains on the back of one of _his hands where he wiped it off was a dead giveaway as well.  But—the things that puzzle me the most are the shoes."_

_*Shoes?  Kudo, you notice the weirdest things.*  "Whose shoes?"_

Conan hesitated, frowning slightly for a moment.  "It may be nothing… this stems from something I noticed once when I was waiting in a doctor's office.  The old woman, the one that the driver helped up the stairs—her shoes _aren't her shoes.  That is, they aren't the shoes of someone who uses a walker, anyway."  The boy slumped down a little, sitting on his heels and gripping the back of the seat; the frown deepened.  "A person who uses something to help them walk tends to slide their feet forward… their weight shifts differently, and the scuff-marks on their shoes are generally on the toes.  Also, there's a distinctive scuff-pattern that walkers leave on the outer edge of a shoe from when the rubber stop on the walker's bottom bumps against them….. but these shoes have none of those.  In fact," he said, warming to the subject, "they look like shoes worn on perfectly normal feet."_

Takagi blinked.  "Couldn't they be—I don't know, new shoes?  Or maybe someone gave them to the woman?"  He involuntarily glanced over one shoulder towards the couple, who were sitting a little ways back with their heads together in conversation.  The old woman looked a little pale, as did her companion; the young detective caught an uneasy expression flitting over the man's lined face as his eyes momentarily flashed up and met Takagi's.

_*Looks a little worried, doesn't he?  Well, cops make a lot of people nervous.  Just because somebody looks upset doesn't mean he's a murderer.*  Then again… the murderer __was somebody on the bus….._

Beside him the small figure shook his head, still deep in thought.  "They aren't new; the wear patterns are pretty clear.  And there's a mend on the left outer side that's fairly clumsily done, definitely a home-made job—I can't see anybody giving them away with that much damage on them."  He shook his head again, then looked up at the older man with those two-knowing eyes.  "One more oddity:  the walker."

"What about it?  And when did you get such a close look at their shoes, anyway?"

The boy looked a little smug.  "While you were taking statements I dropped one of _these" (he fished out a marble from one pocket, displaying it triumphantly) "so that it rolled down the aisle.  I crawled along the floor under the seats to get it back—and I took a look at just about everybody's pants, skirt-hems and shoes."_

Takagi eyed him with amusement.  "I guess that accounts for the black marks on _your pants….."  He had noticed the long, dirty scuffs running from knee to ankle on the faux gradeschooler's legs (not to mention the rather filthy palms) with tired resignation—the boy was beginning to look like something somebody had used to scrub toilets with._

Conan shrugged, apparently uncaring.  "I'm a kid—we're washable."

_*Oh, thanks a lot, Kudo; Ran-kun, basically, is going to KILL me when she sees you.  She's a detective's daughter and a karate champ—I'll bet she knows plenty of ways…..  Heh… guess I could always blurt out his secret in self-defense—then she'd go after *him* instead…..  Idiot; don't even THINK that, Takagi, not even as a joke.*_

 Unaware of his companion's thoughts, the smaller of the two detectives continued, still kneeling on the seat; he peered down the aisle, cocking his head a little sideways as he watched their fellow passengers.  "As for the walker—there's something weird about the marks on the handles.  The grips are very worn, they haven't been replaced in quite a while… but the woman isn't grasping them where the marks are.  I noticed that when she passed us by, that she was holding it a little awkwardly."

The officer scowled, trying to remember… The driver had stepped out to assist the old woman up and then moved aside to allow her and the old man to pass; she had stopped to rest for a moment against the side of the driver's seat while her companion paid the fare.

There had been something else…..  Oh, right; the driver had looked at the pair sort of oddly--  Takagi had thought he seemed almost startled for a second or two.  He said as much to the boy, who nodded soberly.  "It might not be anything, but…..  Let's face it, we're stuck on a bus in limited light in a rainstorm; even small clues are good things right now.  The only reason I could see people's shoes and pants-legs at all was because you turned on the main overhead light—"

Takagi scowled to himself, thinking hard; the detective's boyish face was rather grim, and he pulled his notebook back out to read what he had written down earlier.  "Family name Yamashii, Ne and Tora.  Kind of unusual names-- Ne's the woman, age sixty-eight; her brother, Tora is… huh; same birthdate.  We've got a pair of geriatric twins here.  She looks older than him, though….."

"She is.  They both look older than they are….."  The soft, childish voice was oddly distant, and the young officer frowned down at the top of the small head.  _*Now how the Hell do you know who was born first, Kudo?—or are you just guessing?*_

He continued down the page, grimacing at his own hard-to-read scrawl.  "Let's see….. they usually get off three stops down the bus-route from here—said they were visiting some friends.  Same address, not too bad a district if a little shabby….. the brother's employed at the Beika Institute of Agriculture as a part-time handyman, semi-retired.  The sister keeps house for the two of them—has for years, from what she says."  Takagi scratched at his head.

"And their other sibling?"

The detective shot him a sideways glance, shaking his head.  "They didn't mention _having another brother or sister.  Why?"  In response the boy just grunted.  Takagi resisted a sudden irritable urge to shake him by the shoulders, trying to keep in mind that it would be a hell of a lot easier to work together if he didn't maim his co-investigator.  __*But the little twerp can get so damned close-mouthed sometimes…  What's going on inside that altered skull of yours, Conan… Kudo?  What have you thought of?*_

_*What have I missed?*_

"Ummm… yo?  Detective?"  Takagi jumped slightly, then swiveled around in his seat.  The worried, somewhat gruff voice belonged to one of the dockworkers (the ones with the tattoos?  He tried surreptitiously to get a glimpse of the man's hands) , who was currently sort of gesturing at him with something that looked vaguely like a cellphone, only smaller.  "Looks like maybe we can get through now—told my wife what happened, and she's gonna try'n call an ambulance.  You wanna try for a squad car—and maybe another bus, so's we can all go home?"  The scruffy face looked hopeful.

A burst of relief shot through the young detective; right now the idea of contacting his stationhouse sounded _wonderful;  he stuffed his notebook back into his pocket.  "You managed to get through?  I tried the other guy's phone earlier, couldn't do a thing—"  Takagi nodded towards the nervous-looking whitecollar worker a little ways down the aisle, who sat staring disconsolately out the window._

The dockworker shrugged; the strong aroma of dead fish floated through the damp air as he scratched at his bristles with the dirty nails of one hand.  "Cheap low-budget junk—probably not even web-enabled; he shoulda gone for something with more oomph to it."  The man passed over a surprisingly intricate-looking little device, flipping up an antenna and unfolding this and that as he laid it in Takagi's palm.  "You press this, pick non-text—unless you wanna surf the Net—and dial in."

_click-click__... blip-beep-bideep-blip-beepbeep-bi-deep-blip…zhszhszhszhsshssshhh….  "__Tokyo__ Metro— how may I direct your call?"_

Takagi sighed happily, a relieved grin spreading across his face.  _Contact at last; he felt rather like expressing his gratitude, but he suspected that the police dispatcher would be a little taken aback by kissing noises over the line.  His voice still squeaked a bit, however, as he put through a call for any available unit in the area---_

_……"I'm sorry, Detective Takagi, no response—we're having trouble with communications---" *zzhshshz*crackle*zzzzzhzhzh****  "Let me try again---"  He could hear the dispatcher's voice fade distantly against the heavy static of the call as she moved away from the receiver._

_*Oh please….*  The young officer found himself fingering his lucky notebook  with his free hand.  __*Come __ON--__*_

Beside him the little boy continued to stare down the aisle, still kneeling on his seat; behind the smeared glasses dark blue eyes narrowed in concentration.  Ignoring the man beside him (who was too deeply involved in clutching the cellphone like a lifeline to pay much attention anyway), he slowly slid down from his place onto the floor and slipped into the aisle.  Few of the passengers paid much attention; the elderly couple that had been sitting near them had moved to the back and were attempting to engage the other senior citizens in conversation (without much luck, apparently), the girl with the headphones was scowling and attempting rather glumly to tape her cracked device's case with some band-aids she had produced from somewhere, and the three gaijin teenagers were once more discussing the idea of visiting a shrine.  The one with the sketch-pad (who was still busily involved in sketching the crime-scene) seemed a little doubtful, but it looked like she and her friend were finally caving in to their more enthusiastic companion's suggestions.

Moving unobtrusively, Conan stepped carefully around the corpse on the floor.  There wasn't too much to be gained from examining the body again—primary rigor mortis looked to have already begun in the facial, neck and upper torso region.  *_At least establishing time of death won't be a problem with this one,* he thought absently as he slipped past to the area of the driver's seat._

_*Now… if the bee didn't sting him, what did?  He does show a small laceration and definite capillary flush on his upper back – so SOMETHING was injected.  That's why he jumped a bit when he sat down.  So…. The next thing is to find the medium used to carry the venom or poison or whatever--*  He fished out one of the soggy, much-the-worse-for-wear tissues that he had used earlier to wipe his hands and face; there wasn't much left of them, but they'd work.  Gently the boy began to sweep the thin bits of paper across the seat, moving from the top down; just as he reached the seam that ran across the cushion at an adult's shoulder level, he felt it snag.  __*There.*  Conan felt a very Shinichi-ish smirk of triumph cross his face and he instinctively ducked his head; it wouldn't do for anybody to notice.  "Takagi?  Takagi-keiji?" he called out softly._

Behind him he heard the low-voiced and rather frustrated-sounding phone call come to an end; apparently a squad car would be arriving when one became available.  Takagi's irritable grunt was clearly audible as he snapped the cellphone closed, passing it back to its burly owner with a nod of thanks.  "What— where are y--  Oh; didn't realize you were up there."  There was a shuffle of footsteps as the detective approached, but Conan kept his attention fixed on the tiny, tiny point that he could see projecting from the smallest of slits in the cushion.  "What'd you find?"

"Take a look—have you got tweezers on you?  It's sharp—"

Silently the young officer pulled out a small wallet from an inner pocket; standard-issue among detectives, it contained such things as plastic evidence bags, labels, rubber gloves, the afore-mentioned tweezers…..  He frowned at the cushion as the dim overhead light reflected off of something very, very small….

….. rather like the point of a pin.  Or a _needle._

It was a bit longer than it looked at first, though still quite small-- perhaps four centimeters; gentle probing with the tweezers pulled it from its hiding place in the cushion and the two investigators stared down at their find.  It *_was* a needle, a fairly thick one, and examination of the sharp end showed a hollow channel running through it.  The majority of the needle was encased in a sort of flat rubber bubble, no larger than a thumbnail; it had been compressed a bit—it sprang back into its normal shape when removed from the cushion.  A tiny stain of something dark at the protruding tip (which stuck out barely a centimeter) would undoubtedly prove later to be the bus-driver's blood._

Conan frowned down at the item in Takagi's rubber-gloved palm; it looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.  "Any clues what this is?  I've seen one before somewhere—"

The detective nodded, gently turning the item over with the tweezers; the sharp tip gleamed evilly back at him.  "Yeah, I've seen 'em in the Forensics lab.  It's a collection lancet—they use them to take small samples, usually of blood or surface fluids."  He studied the small thing, then glanced at the careful slit where it had been inserted into the cushion.  "I think we've found our murder weapon, don't you?  Our 'bee-sting'."

The boy nodded grimly.  "Let's see if we can use it to sting the killer as well."

***********************************************

_Splash.__  Sploosh.  Splash.  Slosh.  Two sets of resigned, rain-soggy footsteps made their way through the darkened and debris-littered streets, pausing occasionally in deeper patches of shadow to allow their owners to survey their surroundings and the chances of being mauled, robbed at gunpoint, or assaulted in any number of ways._

So far so good; the only thing that had followed them thus far had been the rain.

"You know, Ran," remarked Sato Miyako as she tugged a strand of soggy hair from her eyes, "it just occurred to me that things really _could be worse."_

Her companion eyed her with some alarm; considering that they were both currently smelling of multiple foodstuffs and condiments, were soaked to the skin, were on foot in a horrible part of town *and*  (last but not least) were currently outfitted like fairly tasteful refugees from a lingerie catalogue, this was saying something.  "What?" she asked with a certain trepidation.

"Ah, well…  We could still have the Inspector with us."

Ran blanched.  They had dropped Inspector Megure off at a relative's house outside town a scant ten minutes before their first flat tire; while she liked and respected the man a great deal, she shuddered to think of his reaction to the food-and-black-silk-intimates fiasco.  "I see your point.  Ummm… is that the bar?"  A flickering neon sign flashed garish colors through the rain a block or so away.  Ran squinted towards it; she could her distant music and the faintest sound of voices over the susurrus of the falling rain…..

Sato opened her mouth to answer, but before she could say anything a shape stepped out of the shadows between the lights and the two women; the click of a switchblade and the flash of sharpened steel in the dim glow of the streetlamps made Ran catch her breath and freeze in her tracks.  Equally still, Sato stared down their assailant with a stony glare.

The man (fairly young, but with a nasty, scruffy face) grinned back at her, hefting his knife.  "_Heeeeey__, ladies….. what're two sweet things like __you doin' out on a night like this?"  He smirked, looming over the rather petite young officer as he moved in a little closer.  "You lookin' for trade?  Tell you what—one'a you can go free, but the other..…"  His suggestive leer indicated his plans for the 'other'.  "First, though…. Unless you want those pretty faces messed up, let's see some cash.  Wallets, __now!"  He gestured with his knife, eyes narrowing greedily._

Ran's eyes had gone from widened fear to complete outrage; the man thought that *they* were…. were…..  _*OOOHH!!*_

Beside her, Sato gave what could only be considered an evil smile.  "So, let me get this straight:  you're planning on robbing both of us, then raping one of us, right?"  She seemed remarkably composed.  The young woman next to her was beginning to make a low growling noise in the back of her throat.

Like the piece of street scum he seemed to be— in fact, like the total IDIOT he obviously was— the mugger-and-would-be-rapist nodded, still grinning.

Sato's smile became poisonously sweet.  "You'd like to see my money?  Here."  She tossed the purse towards the man's hands,  purposefully missing just slightly.  "Ooops… clumsy me….."

The man shot her a dirty look, then crouched slightly to grab the strap; as he began to rise he snarled out "I was gonna keep the younger piece, but you'll do just as good, Bi—"

He never got the chance to finish his epithet.  The rising kick that caught him squarely between his legs while in mid-crouch actually lifted his feet slightly from the ground (Mouri Ran was something of a perfectionist when it came to her karate), lofting him neatly into a splashdown beside the streetlight.  With a ruptured squeak like a mouse beneath a steamroller the man fell over sideways into a huddle, his knife skittering in circles across the streaming pavement; Sato stepped smartly up, bringing her heel down on the weapon in a blade-breaking stomp.  

Ran watched, breathing hard and rubbing at her foot (it had hurt; sandals are _not karate tabis) with one hand as the officer retrieved the second set of handcuffs of the evening from her purse, securing their assailant to the lamp-post.  She surveyed the ball of seething misery for a moment, satisfaction glittering in her eyes.  "Don't worry, you'll live—with any luck, she only made you infertile and impotent for the rest of your days.  I'll be sure to send a squad car in a little while to take care of you.  Jaa!"_

And with that, Sato linked her arm in Ran's and calmly walked away, tugging the young woman along towards the neon-lit bar down the street.  Her face held a bright smile, and her expression was happier than it had been all night.

They walked on.

"Sato-kun?  Did you _*know* I was going to do that?"_

The detective nodded cheerfully.  "I heard your breathing change; you went right into karate-mode, and I knew you were more angry than afraid.  It was just a matter of opportunity—so I *made* one."  She chuckled, tilting her head back and blinking up at the rain.  "It's a lovely night really, isn't it?"

Ran's eyes were rather large; however, she considered it for a moment and smiled tentatively back.  "Umm, well….."  Suddenly she laughed to herself; her step picked up a little.  "You know, it really _is."_

They were within sight of the bar now; Ran's smile widened even further at the thought of warmth and (even better) _not-rain for a change.  "We're here—it doesn't look __*too* bad, Sato-kun; why were you so nervous earlier?  I mean, it doesn't—"_

-- her eyes lit on the sidewalk sign sitting in front of the door--

"—look like a bad place at all—"

-- which read (in large, cheerful, easy-to-read characters):  _TUESDAY NIGHT!!  CROSSDRESSERS' HAPPY HOUR!!  BRING A FRIEND!!_

"—for a bar……………… cross… dressers…..??................... oh.  OH."  Ran halted in her tracks, turning to stare at Sato.  

Sato avoided her eyes.

"Sato-kun?  This is a, a—_gay bar, right?  For gay men?  I mean, cross-dressing *__women* would just look like women in pants… right--?  Sato-kun?"  Ran's rather cheerful voice had a slightly dazed quality to it._

The young officer sighed, giving in.  "That's right.  It's a gay bar for gay men, and tonight is—well, you just read the sign."  Her face was more than a little red as she finally faced Ran.  "Do you see why I'm glad we dropped the Inspector off?"

Ran shuddered.  "So….. _that's what you meant earlier, about saying 'nice dress'.  I thought you were making a joke."_

Her companion shook her head emphatically.  "Nope, afraid not.  When we picked our witness up from here it was a Tuesday too….."  She winced at the memory.  "Actually the bar owner's not a bad sort if he's in a good mood— a bit _overenthusiastic sometimes, but not too bad."  Her wince faded a little and she chuckled wanly.  "I think he sort of took a liking to Takagi….. you never saw *anybody* blush like that in your life, Ran; I thought he was going to spontaneously combust."_

The girl's eyes nearly popped out.  "………….."

Sato grinned faintly.  "So… let's go inside.  Just like we planned, we can get something hot to drink and call a taxi—"  She stepped up and pushed the door open, towing her reluctant friend inside.

"—and I can promise you, we don't have to worry about being molested in _here."_

* * * * *

As it turned out, that wasn't *quite* the case.  It took a little while for the bar's beskirted population to realize that _a) the nicely-dressed-if-soaked-and-oddly-smelly couple in black weren't male, and __b) therefore they were neither interesting nor interested.  For the most part, the cliental were congenial; several of them recognized Sato after a wide-eyed perusal or two, and word got around that No One Was To Harrass The Cop On The Barstool Or Her Friend._

All in all, the _Blue Oyster seemed to be the *nicest* place they had been in all night.  That was peculiar, but they could handle it.  Sato sighed, sitting back on her barstool beside a rather hairy individual in a forest green off-the-shoulder number and sipped her coffee gratefully, all the while secretly wishing for something a little stronger.  She __was off-duty, after all….. but no; she had Ran under her wing, so no alcohol._

Ran, in the meantime, was politely chatting with a collegiate type in a rather chilly-looking halter top and skirt combo while she drank _her coffee; Sato caught the occasional word or phrase over the noise of the bar:  "…. shorter hemlines….. maybe in plaid?  If you….. I don't know, denim or possibly a linen-blend….."_

The detective rolled her eyes and took a larger swallow; sometimes Ran seemed to get along a little _*too* well with people.  __*Oh well, at least she's not having fainting fits all over the place.  We're warmer, we're drying, and we can call a taxi when that guy over there gets off the pay-phone.  Maybe this WAS a good idea after all--*_

**_"SAAAATOOO-SAAAAN!!!!!"  _**

She jolted in her seat, sloshing the dregs of her coffee all over the bar.  _*Oh no……*  Two large, burly arms in heavy silk sleeves were suddenly around her from behind, and she had to firmly suppress her unarmed combat instincts to keep from jabbing for the throat with an elbow.  __*It's the owner.  Be polite, Sato, be polite.  Remember, he could toss you both out into the rain…*  "Ummmmm--- K-Konban ha, Momo-san…"_

The figure behind her gave an expansive, bellowing laugh; alcohol-laden breath gusted all around her.  "That's what I *LIKE* about you, Sato-san—you're so _POLITE!!  Aaaaaand where's that *cute* little partner of yours, hmmmmmm??"   Sato found herself being spun around on her barstool in an abrupt about-face._

Momo Joen was large, very large; he had huge hands, a big face, and a booming voice to match.  He _*also* had a rather big kimono on, complete with obi and under-robes.  His black wig was a bit askew and his makeup slightly smeared—but absolutely no-one was going to tell *that* to a 'Geisha' that weighed in at close to two hundred kilos._

"Errrrrrrrrr, he, that is….. he couldn't make it.  It's just us, I'm afraid….."  Sato coughed slightly as another waft of alcohol-fumes hit her in the face; Momo-san liked to sample his own product, and tended to insist that his friends do so as well.  

The man in the geisha costume frowned momentarily.  "What's that swill you're drinking, Sato-san?  Coffee??  Can't have my favorite cop drinking coffee!!  _SUKIIII!!"  The bartender (one of the few guys in the room not wearing a skirt) raised an inquiring, bushy eyebrow.  "A DRINK FOR SATO-SAN AND FOR HER—hey, didn't you bring a friend or something??"  Momo blinked, the great white-powdered face looking puzzled._

"Um, yes……. This is--  Ran?  Mouri Ran…. This is Momo Joen, the bar's proprietor.  Ah, Momo-san, she's a bit _underage to be drinking….."_

Ran stared up at Momo-san, offering a tentative smile and polite bow; Momo-san beamed down at Ran, offering a made-up face and a huge grin.  Chorusing "Looooovely!  Simply *lovely*!!", he clapped a motherly and heavily-tattooed hand onto her shoulder, staggering her a bit before turning back to the bartender.  

The detective tried one last time.  "Momo?  Momo-san?  The 'underage' thing--?"

Momo-san waved an airy hand towards Sato, dismissing her last comment as inconsequential and utterly de trop; "Nooooonsense, we don't pay much attention to that sort of thing in HERE, you know…  SUUUUUKI?  TWO DWINKS!  I MEAN, DRINKS!!"  The alcohol he had consumed earlier was obviously beginning to hit Momo a bit; he was starting to sway just a bit.  The effect was, perhaps, just a bit hypnotic…..

"Sato-kun?WhatdoIdo?"  Two hopeful, worried eyes were fixed on Sato's own; the policewoman groaned to herself.  "Just keep calm, stay nice and polite, and drink whatever he offers you— I know, I know, you're underage and your father will chop my fingers off when he hears about this, but Momo REALLY hates to drink alone, and if you *don't* drink it he'll get mad and then we'll probably leave the building the way the _last cop to make Momo-san angry did….."  Sato sighed a defeated sigh, resisting the urge to clutch at her hair._

Ran fidgeted slightly, a little pale.  "How?"

Sato nodded at a window over by the pool table.  "Through there.  Well….. actually, since Momo-san likes me, he might open the window first this time, though….."

The teenager blinked.  "I see."

_Thunk-thunk__!  Two drinks __(dwinks?) were plopped down between the two at the bar, and a heavy, impeccably-manicured hand was suddenly resting on Sato's shoulder__.  "NOWWW…… a toast to my *FAVORITE* POLICEWOMAN and her CUTE PARTNER! And her FRIEND!"  Momo-san's booming voice was even louder than usual, filling the room and nearly cracking the mirror behind the bar._

The drinks were murky and sort of… brown.  They held few ice-cubes.  Like automatons Sato and Ran picked them dutifully up, clinked them with Momo-san's wineglass (full of something that was almost certainly _not wine, considering the hair-shriveling scent) and then drank._

It occurred to Sato mid-swallow that perhaps she should have warned Ran-kun about just _how to drink…..  The girl was seventeen; doubtless she had had her momentary experiment with a friend or two and of course the occasional glass of wine—but did she know that a regular-sized swallow of one of Momo's 'dwinks' was liable to remove several layers from her internal works?  Or that it was possible to take a tiny sip and __disguise it as a gulp?  Just like she herself was supposed to be doing right now….. __ Oh dear….._

She placed the glass carefully on the bartop, her eyes watering from the large swallow she had just downed.  If the liquid had ever _had a taste, it had probably been beaten to death by the alcohol molecules.  _

The young officer closed her eyes momentarily in dread, then braced herself and turned towards the minor whom had just _Broken__ The Law While In Sato's Keeping.  She had taken a minor into a disreputable place and allowed her to be fed alcohol.  She was a *disgrace* to her uniform and a horrible officer, and Takagi-kun shouldn't even want to __LOOK at her.  She was—_

"Sato?  Sato-kun?"  The slightly strangled voice made her open her eyes (she hadn't even realized they were still closed) with an abrupt jerk.  _*Awwwk??*_

Mouri Ran was peering at her worriedly; the girl reached over to place a palm on her forehead.  "Are you feeling sick?  You look awfully flushed….."  The teenager set her glass down with a _thwack! on the bar; the melting ice-cubes rattled merrily.  Ran was also rather pink; her eyes were a bit glassy and her voice sounded rather raspy, but didn't seem to be breathing flames or falling over dead from alcohol-poisoning or anything like that—_

"Ran-kun?  You're… alright?"  From the corner of her eye Sato could see Momo's pink-and-white face grinning down from above them both.  The geisha-crossdresser was giggling like a fool.

Ran made a face, then smoothed it out as she glanced up at their… host.  "F-fine.  Ummm… thank you for the drink, Momo-san—" she nodded again politely, attempted a smile, then sipped at her drink.

Sato could not believe her eyes.  _*Ran's…. not falling over?  She's not choking to death?  She's not throwing up in a corner or foaming at the mouth?  WHY isn't she falling over???  I mean, not that I *want* her to, but—but--*  _

Across the room a sudden crash of glass and an angry snarl announced the possible beginnings of a barfight;  Momo-san gave a sigh of annoyance and straightened his obi.  "'Scuse me, ladies—gotta go defenestrate somebody.  SUKI!!  Keep 'em coming!!"  The large man waded away through the crowd.

Under the cover of smashing glasses and shouts, Sato leaned towards her companion and whispered "Ran-kun?  Are you… REALLY alright?  I'm so sorry you had to drink that, but if we want to get out of here in one piece—"

The young woman nodded, grimacing; "I know, I know…..  Actually, you don't have to worry.  I found out a long time ago that it doesn't really bother me—I mean, it'll make me _drunk and all that, and I'm sorry….. but it won't make me sick."  At Sato's climbing eyebrows and look of pure astonishment, the detective's daughter laughed a little wryly.  "Sato-kun, remember who my father is?  We've had a __lot of alcohol around my place for years— and it's only natural for kids to want to experiment.  Sonoko and I got completely potted when we were nine, and I learned I could drink whisky without coughing and choking and all that; I just can."  She absentmindedly took a sip, making a small face against the taste.  "I don't *like* it, but I won't throw up."_

"Oh."  Sato took another swallow from her own glass; somehow it didn't taste quite so bad now.  "I'm glad to hear that…  Ah, Ran?  Could we possibly never, ever mention this little field-trip to your father?  If he ever finds out, he'll—"

Her friend nodded with perhaps a little more vehemence than was needed (or perhaps not, all things considered).  "—he'll kill you.  I know."  Taking a final swallow, she placed the now-empty glass back on the bar.  The officer frowned, then took another long drink of her own, following suite a moment later.

The whirl of activity on the other side of the room had degenerated by now into a series of screeching and cat-calls, abruptly terminated by the sudden _thud! of an unfortunate crossdresser being head-butted.  A moment later they heard Momo calmly issuing orders for someone to open the window…..  "Sato-kun?"  Ran ran her fingernail around the rim of the glass which had materialized by her elbow a moment earlier; "What does 'defenestrate' mean?"_

A chorus of  **_"_****_ICHI! …NI!  …SAAAAAAN!!!" rang out above the crowd-noise, and raucous cheers accompanied the sight of one of the bar's cliental being thrown out through the now-open window; he presumably landed in the street on his backside, high-heeled pumps in the air, but they couldn't really tell from where they were sitting.  "THAT's what it means," said Sato with a nod towards the unfortunate's exit; "It's Momo-san's favorite way of getting rid of… undesirables.  He woes them out the thrindow—I mean, he throws them out the window."  She took another long drink, then frowned down at her glass; where had __that come from?_**

_*Oh well; waste not, want not….. and it doesn't really taste NEARLY as foul as it did a few minutes ago.  It's actually kind of nice.*  Sato turned a little on her stool, smiling cheerfully at Momo's bewigged head as it bobbed above the crowd at the other side of the room.  __*What a nice man, even if he IS wearing a dress.*_

_* * * * * * * * * * * * *_

Some undefined time later…..

….. Ran was trying to be helpful.  She frowned, pushing a straggle of hair from her eyes.  "You mean… you don't want to _*TELL* him?  Whynot??  'S not so hard…..  I mean, I mean, y'could just sit down somewhere nice and, and __talk to him….."_

The bearded young man beside her in the black cocktail-dress sighed, staring broodingly into his beer.  "I guess I'm just sort of nervous, that's all.  I mean— he's awfully nice, and I don't want to ruin our friendship by telling him stuff he won't want to hear….."  He drooped, tugging at his nylons.  "Damn things—got a run in 'em already.  I swear, you go and buy a nice outfit and you can't have it on for fifteen minutes without something going wrong—"

The young woman nodded sympathetically, swaying a little.  "Uh huh.  Know what you mean.  But, but it's sort of like relationships, isn't it?  I mean…. Ummmmm……… what was I saying?"

"Relationships?  Outfits?  Runs in nylons?"  Prodded the bearded young man hopefully; Ran nodded again.

"Right!  You get to know somebody… and you know them for _YEARS and it all goes really, really, really __good… but then it's, it's sort of like a *warranty* or something like that kinda runs out, and… and then you either have to go buy a new outfit or you have to fix it.  The relationship thing.  You know?  It all changes….."  The young woman frowned down at her drink, swirling the ice-cubes together; they looked interesting, floating in there.   __"Everything all changes….. and, and if you __LET it, it all gets messed up.  Like the nylons, you know?"_

The bearded young man looked impressed.  "Soooooo….. what do y'_do, then?"_

Ran thumped her drink down onto the bartop, looking determined.  "You _*talk* to them.  You don't—don't just let them walk all over you and not call you or, or come by or—"  She stopped then, suddenly switching from 'determined' to 'depressed'.  "Because… when they don't come by, you __miss them….. and you get sorta, um, scared that you're going to stop thinking about them, or they're going to stop thinking 'bout you….. because time goes by….."_

The bearded young man pondered this for a few minutes; he tugged at one drooping shoulder-strap, and then slid from the bar-stool with a forthright expression on his face.  "Y'know what?  You're *right*.  What've I been so scared of?  If he's my friend, he'll stay my friend even if we don't--  and if I don't ask him, I'll just go on being miserable.  THAT'S what's been making me so goddamned unhappy—I don't _know if things'll work out or not.  They might, they might not—but if I ask him at least I'll know…. And that __can't be any more miserable than *not* knowing."_

Ran cheered.  "You _go, girl!  Um, guy.  Whatever."  She blinked.  "You know, I sounded exactly like Sonoko-kun just then….."_

The bearded young man gave her an odd look, then nodded determinedly.  He peered across the room, and then headed off across the crowded room in a beeline for a rather skinny redhead who was lounging in one corner, watching Momo-san 'escort' another client out the window.  The detective's daughter giggled a little as she watched him snag the redhead's arm and tow him towards the door, eyes full of purpose.

Someone cleared their throat next to her.  "Ran-kun?  Ran-chan?"  She turned carefully on her barstool, leaning on the counter so that she wouldn't fall off.

Sato Miwako was more than leaning on the counter; she seemed to be developing a personal friendship with it, gripping the edge tightly in both hands as if it were her best friend.  The woman's eyes were glazed, her face seriously flushed, and she seemed to be listing severely to one side.  Her black lace-trimmed chemise was slightly askew, and now an additional aroma of fermented spirits seemed to be battling it out with the Hoisin-sauce and kimchee.

Not that Ran could throw stones…  "Yes, Sato-kun?" she answered solemnly, wondering why there were momentarily two of her.

"That… that was _reallllllly__ nice, you know….. talking to that guy like that."  _

Sato-kun was smiling.  That was good; Ran liked it when her friends were happy.  She liked helping people!  Maybe Sato-kun needed help too?  "Thanks, Sato-kun….. he just wanted to, um, to talk about his relationship.  And his clothes, I guess.  His nylons had a run in them, youknow…."  She frowned down at the bar-top.  Nylons with runs in them….. and relationships.  Suddenly she was depressed all over again.

"But, but, BUT Sato-kun, _you know what?"_

The other woman sagged gently against the bar.  "What?"

"……..I, um…… I **miss him.  I really do, because he hardly _*ever* calls me and he hardly __*ever* stops by, and I, I, I used to see him ALLTHETIME!!!  AndnowIhaven'tseenhimin__months….."  Where had __that come from?  Ran stared down at her drink suspiciously, feeling the depression deepen._**

Sato frowned too.  "Who??  _THAT guy, the one in the black dress??"_

"Huh?--  Oh.  No.  No……….  _Shinichi-kun.  You know?"_

"Oh."  The officer leaned forward on her elbows.  "I guess I can understand that.  I mean, I miss Takagi-kun too and it's only been a few… hours? since I saw him….."  She blinked a few times, wondering aloud:  "Did I really just say that outside of my head?"

"Uh huh."  Ran giggled, leaning over towards her friend until she very nearly fell off the barstool.  "So… you really DO like him, hmmmmmmmm??"  She poked the other woman in the side with an elbow, catching her balance against the bar at the last second.

Sato turned a little pinker (if that was possible) and mumbled something indistinguishable, taking a long, long drink from her glass.  "Mmmmm," she agreed, dropping her gaze to the bar-top; she tapped it with one fingernail, and the tiny _click-click was oddly distinct against the chaos of voices, music and the drum of rain overhead._

Her friend grinned triumphantly; then the grin faltered.  "So… why don't you, I don't know, _*say* something?  I mean," and she waved her arms a little wildly, "you two are really, really, really…. Um…… really __CUTE together, especially when Takagi-kun starts blushing."  Her eyes sparkled, and she looked down at her own drink with a slightly wicked grin.  "And he has a nice butt, too."_

Sato blinked.  "You know, you're right.  He _does.  Does Shinichi-kun?"_

"What?"

"Have a nice butt?"

Ran suddenly turned beet-red and began stammering.  "Uhhhhhhhh—I—uh, I n-never---  Um, I mean….."  Her protests dwindled away, and she seemed to find the contents of her glass terribly enthralling.  

Sato waited patiently.  "Well?  _*DOES* he??"_

The young woman mumbled something that sounded like an affirmative, her face fiery.   A slow grin stole across the officer's face as she pointed a finger at her companion.  "Then why are you telling ME to talk to Takagi-kun?  I mean, you oughta—ought to—you should practice what you preach, Ran-chan….."

Mouri Ran sighed, sunk in gloom; "If he'd just _stay here for more than an hour or a day or, or *whatever*, maybe I __would….."  Sato snorted in either disbelief or sympathy, taking a long swallow of her drink.  It occurred to Ran that her friend seemed to be holding an __awfully large glass—in fact, it looked like a beer-mug.  She peered into the depths.  "What's that?"_

The detective looked down at the liquid in front of her; it wasn't brown anymore, it was now a sort of burnt-orange.  "Don't know— Momo-san insisted I drink it.  It's sort of nice, I think…..  Did Momo-san tell you it's his birthday tonight?"

"No!!"  Happily Ran raised her own glass over her head, twisting on her barstool.  "_HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOMO-SAAA-AAAN!!!" she called out, chortling.  Cheers rang out here and there across the room, and Momo-san (who had his hands full of a to-be-defenestrated client) dropped what he was doing (__thud!) and headed their direction, his face beaming like the flag of Japan._

Sato dropped her face into her hands_.  "RAAAaaaaaaan……"_

Momo-san placed a tattooed, ham-like hand on the two women's shoulders.  "HOWya doing?  Having fun?  See…. Can't have my _*favorite cop* have a bad time in MY bar…….."  He reached out to grab the drink that mysteriously materialized in front of him (the bartender was __good), throwing it back.  Then he leaned forward, draping himself across the bar between them and leaning back onto his elbows; empty glasses, swizzle sticks and cherry-stems slid off onto the work-counter on the other side.  "You know…  You KNOW why you're my fav'rite cop, Sato-san??"  At the woman's weary headshake, Momo grinned widely.  "'Cause ever since you picked up that witness y'were lookin' for, we don't get harassed.  Nobody comes to bust us, or make trouble….. you did that, riiiiiight?  You clever woman, you….."  One large finger thumped Sato on top of her head; she winced, then grinned a little sheepishly._

"Ahhh, well……. You were really helpful….. and we got our perp, Takagi-kun and me, 'cause you kept our witness from climbing out the rathboom window.  Bathroom, I mean."  She smiled somewhat timidly at the bedraggled geisha sprawled beside her.  "My dad--- he was a cop too, you know--- he always said to, to, um, to do people a good turn if they did you one.  So….."  Rather red, Sato buried her nose in her glass.  

The _whap! of Momo-san's hand swatting her on the back nearly made her choke to death, and she spilled half her drink down her shirt as the large man suddenly leaned forward and enveloped her in a rib-breaking hug.  "Mhmhsn?? Yr crshng mhhhh—"  Sato was suddenly released, wobbling dizzily on her barstool.  On the other side of the bar-owner, Ran cheered._

"Y'know WHAT??  _*YOU* two need to come with me to get my BIRTHDAY PRESENT!!!__  In fact….."  The kimonoed man held one finger in the air.  "In fact—I think you two should have one too.  Right.  __RIGHT!!"___

"Huh?  Uhhh, Momo-san, _what birthday pr--  ****__Awwp****__!!"_

Suddenly both women found themselves being dragged to their feet; they swayed dizzily, clinging to each other.  Ran rolled her eyes towards her friend in entreaty, but Sato was in no condition to help.  Sputtering, the two women were hauled towards the door to the sound of raucous cheers, cat-calls and shouts of _"GET A GOOD ONE, MOMO-SAAAAN!!!"_

"Momo?  Momo-san?  Idon'tthinkthisisagoodidea---"  

_Drag, drag, drag…… they were outside now….._

"Um, Momo-san?  What Sato's trying to say is—Sato?  Sato?  YOU tell him---"

_Drag, drag, drag……. and past the parking lot; they had picked up a few stragglers, all cheering them on….._

"Momo?  Please LISTEN, Momo-san, this is really important—Momo? Are you listening?  Momo-san??..... you know, all we were going to do was drink some coffee….. and make a phone call…….."

_Drag, drag, drag…… half-way down the street now, escorted by a growing number of the bar's cliental.  The rain was still coming down heavily, but nobody seemed to mind._

_Drag, drag, drag……..  Ran and Sato tried to dig in their heels, but Momo-san only laughed and half-picked them up.  They were coming up on a neon-lit storefront now, and both women tried to twist themselves around to read the sign….._

**"Oh….. noooooooooooo…….."**

_PAINTED DRAGON TATTOOS AND PIERCINGS  --  OPEN 24 HOURS!!  EXOTIC DESIGNS A SPECIALTY!!!_

The door closed behind them.

**************************************************************************************************

_To be concluded………. (gulp)_

**_Ysabet's_****_ Notes:__  Don't hurt meeeeeeeeeeeee!!!  I swear, I was drugged or something!  Or maybe it was aliens, or subliminal messages or something in my yogurt…..  Errrr…… does anybody out there believe me?  Even a LITTLE??  No?  Oh.  Sigh._**

_This is the most schizophrenic fic I've ever written, it really is.  If I wrote like this *ALL* of the time, I rather suspect I'd need psychiatric care or brain surgery (whichever was cheapest—I'm not exactly independently wealthy, you know).  Quite possibly that would be closing the barn door after the horse was loose, but so it goes; oh well._

_So—was this one a bit over the top?  Poor Conan and Takagi have a serious murder to deal with, while Ran and Sato get to go on a tour of the seamy underbelly of __Tokyo__'s outskirts…..  The mugger sort of jumped onto the story of his own accord; I didn't plan him.  I did plan the gay bar, though… and the tattoo parlor.  Heh; wait'll you see the outcome of THAT little venture…..  Momo-san, by the way, is sort of a combination of my friend Thern (who lives in __Las Vegas__ and is AMAZINGLY flamboyant—he doesn't swish, he *sashays*!) and Mama from 3x3 Eyes; just couldn't resist!_

_Letter-bombs, flames, honest commentary and evil laughter are all welcome; I figure I'm already well on my way to Fanfic Writer's Hell with this one anyway, so I might as well go out with a bang._

_But Sato and Takagi are gonna have their moment, you know; that'll make it all worthwhile, I promise.  Bwahahahahah!!!!!_


	4. Mea Culpa

**_Chapter 4:  Mea Culpa_******

The flash of red-and-blue lights announcing the approaching squadcar and ambulance were transformed into fuzzy halos by the droplets on Conan's glasses; from just inside the bus door he watched silently as they approached with a splash, pulling alongside the stranded vehicle.

_*Took them long enough.  Poor Takagi—he was hoping he'd be able to change clothes or wash up a little before anybody from the stationhouse saw him…  Oh well; so it goes.*_  By the looks of things, the officer was probably at least getting marginally cleaner by standing a couple of yards away from the bus in the middle of the downpour—either that, or he was trying for a nice case of pneumonia.

The rain seemed to mute everything, to make it oddly distant; as an unfamiliar rainslicker-coated officer climbed out of the squadcar and splashed his way over to Takagi, Conan wondered distantly at how dulled their voices seemed through the pounding on the bus's roof.  He could barely hear them; they seemed to be arguing over something a bit (the other officer was waving his arms around and giving Takagi a decidedly dubious look), but after a moment a mutual agreement seemed to have been reached.  The officer shrugged, then turned away to wave the ambulance into a place near the front of the bus.

A growl of thunder overhead made the boy glance irritably at the sky; was it _*ever* going to stop with the damned rain?  He was damp in places Conan hadn't even known he _HAD._  Ran was going to have a fit—well, that was sort of a moot point anyway, she was going to have a fit from the late hour no matter what.  By all rights he should've been back at the Mouri's oh, about five hours ago…..  He winced internally at the thought of her reaction and that of Sato, who was probably going to turn her partner into stir-fry when she got hold of him….._

Of course, one might consider a murder investigation to be mitigating circumstances.  _*Right?  That ought to take precedence over getting home on time.  Sure hope Ran and Sato think so too.*  Conan glanced over his shoulder at the quiet form lying a little ways behind him._

The corpse in question belonged to one Shen Wen Li, a Chinese immigrant with Japanese citizenship according to the contents of his billfold.  Fifty-three years old, the man had been working as a driver for the Tokyo Metro bus service for seventeen years; his personal effects had contained pictures of a wife, two grown children and a handful of grandchildren that were now going to have to grow up without their grandfather around.  Conan sighed an unchildlike sigh, scrabbling one hand through his damp, spiky hair.

_*When you deal with murders and murderers you tend to forget that the victim's death will affect more than just the people around you—it's so easy to get caught up in the crime-scene that you don't think about the kids that'll never help celebrate Grandad's next birthday, won't see him next weekend or talk to him on the phone…..  It doesn't even really matter whether or not he was a nice guy or a jerk—he was alive and he had the potential to be all sorts of things, and now that's gone.  Stolen from him.  In a weird sort of way, murder is the ultimate theft.*_

And this _WAS_ murder, no doubt about that; the tiny lancet hidden in the seam of the seat told that tale quite clearly.  _*Bee venom; horrible way to die, too.  Somebody wanted this man to HURT.  Who hated him that much?  It had to be somebody on the bus, somebody that got on fairly recently too…..  If it had been there for too long he would've sat against it before then.  So—*_

A  thin fan of mud and rainwater interrupted his thoughts, splashing up through the doorway and across his face and clothing; the faux gradeschooler forgot his cover enough to swear, stepping hastily back up the steps—or trying to.  He slipped with a yelp, one soaked sneaker skidding on the stair's treds and sending him asphaltwards—

--only to be arrested (so to speak) by the hand of Officer Takagi Wataru, arriving in a splash of rainwater just in time to keep him from bashing his brains out.  "You okay?"  The officer sneezed, wiping a tangle of muddy hair from his eyes and carefully  settling him onto his feet.  "Careful—one corpse on our hands is enough…"

"Yeah—thanks."  A little embarrassed, the former Kudo Shinichi glared down at the ankle-deep puddle he had landed in.  "WHY doesn't it stop raining?" he demanded of the weather in general; it declined to answer, unless you could count the particularly nasty gust of wind that did its best to blow him over sideways.  The boy staggered into the older man's legs, muttering uncomplimentary things regarding Mother Nature under his breath.

The detective hesitated and seemed about to say something as he watched his companion gingerly lift one small foot from the puddle, shake the water from it in a fine display of futility and place it  back down with a _*sploosh;*_ Tokyo's drainage system could only do so much, and the water underfoot was rising.  The level was already past the tops of his tennishoes…..

"Uh, Ku—I mean, Conan-kun?  You want help before you start floating downstream?"

_*Slosh, slosh, splash*  "_Might be a good idea—"  _*Squelch, slosh*  "—or you're going to end up fishing me out of a storm-drain..."_

Looking rather self-conscious and awkward about the whole thing, Takagi reached down with both hands and caught his diminutive companion up beneath the arms; the rainwater relinquished him with a soggy _*plorp*_  as he hoisted him off his feet.  Carefully he sat the boy onto the still-warm hood of the squad-car.  "Guess you really can't get any wetter, can you?  At least you're off the ground now.  What happened to the umbrella?"

Conan shrugged.  "Left it back in the bus" he said shortly, nodding towards the stranded vehicle.  "So—_now what?  We can't keep everybody on board forever—"  He watched as the other officer climbed up the slippery steps, peering at the driver's body and beginning to make notes in his own Occurance Book.  "Who's that, by the way?"_

"Officer Mufune; fairly new guy, not a bad cop.  A little wet behind the ears, I guess—"

The boy grinned a little sardonically.  "Yeah, well, that goes for _all_ of us right now….."

Takagi grunted impatiently, running one hand through his soggy hair and making it stand on end.  "Very funny.  As for what's next—we need some place to talk to the passengers that's out of the way, someplace dry; if we get 'em comfortable, they're less likely to throw a fit about being held longer.  Let's see….."  He frowned, leaning against the wet vehicle and looking around.  They were in a dimly-lit area on the edge of town, the sort of place that seems to consist solely of small businesses and the tag-ends of residential neighborhoods that haven't quite been driven into selling by the bigger companies yet.  A lit window over a small café-looking place across the street caught his eye, and he brightened; two faces could be seen peering down from the second floor, silhouetted against the curtains.  "There, maybe; looks like all our noise woke somebody up— be right back—"  He splashed off across the pavement with a tired but hopeful stride.

Conan scooted back a little further on the wet metal hood, watching him go; 'someplace dry' sounded like heaven at the moment.  _*And maybe we can get some tea or something hot to eat…*_ he thought wistfully; the donuts of a little while back had long since lost their filling abilities.  _*I'm a growing boy, after all.*_

Behind him the ambulance attendants rolled a gurney up to the bus door in preparation to remove the driver's body; the gradeschooler's face lost its wistfulness and grew a little grimmer as he watched them unroll a black plastic body bag, spreading it out and unzipping it.  _*We've got all our suspects in one place and we've got the murder weapon in hand; we'd better make good use of this opportunity for something more than just getting comfortable.  Time to solve this case…..*_

Across the street Takagi was talking to a bathrobe-clad man in the open doorway of the café while his wife looked on from the window above; apparently they had found their 'someplace dry.'  _*Good; let's get to work.*  The boy's jaw tightened a little into what was almost a smile.  _*And this time I don't think I'm going to need any darts from my watch.*__

***********************************************

Waking up was…..

….. rather like being mugged in an alley.

There you were, strolling along through the depths of sleep, minding your own business (and having a nice-if-somewhat-confused dream concerning a certain partner, a seventeen course dinner and a pair of hang-gliders)—and suddenly wakefulness stepped up behind you, clubbed you across the back of the head and stole your wallet.

Or something like that.  

_*Ooooooooh…..  Whatever I did to deserve this, I'm really really SORRY, okay?*  Sato_ moaned; she couldn't help it.  Even without opening her eyes she knew she was going to regret being alive, wherever she was.  Her head felt like someone had been using it to mix industrial-strength drain-cleaner and small live animals inside it with a jackhammer; her teeth felt furry.

_*No.  Not going to open my eyes.  Don't care where I am, don't care how I got there; it'll have lights, and lights would hurt.  NOT going to open my eyes.*  She_ moaned again and tried to convince her brain to slip back peacefully into unconsciousness, but her brain wasn't buying the idea and persisted in staying awake.

_*Stupid brain.  Doesn't have enough sense to come in out of the rain.*_

Rain?  And another noise…..

"…..snerrrrkkkk….."

She could hear rain all around her, muted and distant—it was dripping off something, coming down onto something overhead and making _*far* too much noise.  She didn't feel wet, though; just miserable.  But what in the world was that other sound?  Maybe she could open her eyes just a crack without moving her head?  If she moved her head it would fall right off, Sato was sure of it….._

_*…just a little tiny bit…..*_

Wince.  Maybe she'd feel better if her head DID fall off.  Come to think of it, she probably would.

_*Oooh.  Fairly dark, thank God; not too much light.  Uhhhh….. sick.  No, don't want to throw up, NOT going to throw up, don't want to do that at ALL.  Wouldn't help.  I haven't felt this bad since that party at the Academy when I ended up sleeping in the trunk of a squadcar.  Where am I?  And… what's that… what are those SOUNDS…??*_

"…..snerrrrkkkk….. sngggggggghh….. SNNGT!zzzzzzg….."

_*They sound like… snores.  Snoring.  Uhh-----*_

She was warm; that hadn't really registered before, but now it did.  _WHERE_ in the world--??  There was something leaning against her rather heavily on either side, two somethings that were contributing to the snoring sounds; muzzily Sato turned her head to the right and found herself regarding the sleeping face of a young female, Asian, brown haired and approximately in her late teens—

_*Oh, right; Ran-chan.  Good.  So who's--*  With_ difficulty she turned her her head to the left—

**_*Gaahhh!!*_******

-- to see a horrific, heavily made-up, dreadfully-smeared, bristle-jowled geisha with his wig askew, mouth open and snoring like an entire herd of warthogs in heat.

_*Oh God.  Momo-san.  The bar.  THAT bar.  Ran.  The drinks.  The—birthday present?!?.....  Oh NO.*_

"…..snnnnnxx…….. sneeEEEerrrrkkkks……"

_*The tattoo parlor.  Momo-san was getting a new tattoo, and she wanted us both to—*_  Sato shut her eyes firmly and attempted to shut her brain up as well; once again, it declined to cooperate.

_*I've been a good girl, haven't I?  I haven't done anything to warrant this sort of thing happening to me; I pay my taxes, I say my prayers at night, I haven't dragged Takagi off and--  I haven't done anything really terrible in YEARS.  Please tell me I didn't….. didn't…..*_

Dimly she became aware of a somewhat painful patch of skin high on her left hip; dimly she became aware of memories that said that she _had._

_*Oh **no.  Somebody just shoot me now.  Please.  No, come to think of it, DON'T shoot me, because then I'll have to explain this whole thing to my dad in the Afterlife…..***_

"…..sngggghh….. SSSNRRK!sssnozzzzz….."

To her right she heard a faint groan; Mouri Ran stirred against Sato's shoulder, mumbling something indistinct:  "…nnno, NO, Sonoko, don't *_want* 'nymore dwinks—"_

Moving with the utmost care, Sato reached out a wobbly hand and shook the young woman's shoulder slightly.  "…..Ran?  Ran-chan?"  Her voice croaked like a frog's in a desert.   "Are—you okay?"  The volume of the snores beside and around them (and it was beginning to dawn on Sato that there were quite a number of them) did not dim in volume in the least, although thunder grumbled overhead as if _it_ had a hangover too.

"—Mmhm?—Wha??—"

"—*oooooooooh*—ohhhhh **_GOD_ myhead_hurts__—"  _**

Well, she didn't exactly sound like she was 'okay', but apparently she was awake now.  The young officer allowed her own eyes to close again, lolling her head back onto what felt like some sort of bench.  Where the hell were they, anyway?

It had been dimly lit and filled with snoring crossdressers; all else had been blotted out by the overwhelming headache.  She'd have to look around again….  Reluctantly Detective Sato Miwako squared her mental shoulders, girded her mental loins, forcibly put the word _*tattoo*_ out of her mind and reopened her eyes.

The first things that she saw were the unconscious bodies sprawled every-which-way across the room, occupying most of the sizable, uncluttered surfaces with limp bundles of women's clothing and unshaven faces.  The *second* thing that met her gaze was a sign, reading _PIERCINGS 20% OFF THIS WEEK!!  CHECK OUT OUR NEW VIBRATING SPIRAL TWISTERS!!!_  With a lack of curiosity that probably did her status as a cop no credit, Sato decided immediately that not only did she not WANT to ever check out a 'vibrating spiral twister', she didn't even want to know what one _was.  She shuddered and turned her head a little away, blearily scanning the surroundings._

"…..snerrrrkkkk….. snnghwww…… SNGxxss……"

Either they were in a rather peculiarly decorated dentist's office or they were still in the tattoo shop.  Brilliant posters of designs covered every wall (and even the ceiling), but the room had a decidedly _clinical_ look to it despite the flashing neon sign in the window a few yards away.  There was a padded chair with broad armrests and an adjustable light overhead, there was sterilization equipment and white cabinets, there was a tray of band-aids, salves and disinfectant and a strong scent of alcohol—

Oh, and speaking of alcohol…..  _WHAT, exactly, had she been *drinking* the night before that would allow Momo-san to persuade her to have a—a—one of *those* done?!?_

Maybe it was better not to ask.  Slowly, cradling her head in her hands, Sato sat up.  Beside her Ran moaned again and ground the palms of her hands against her eyes.  "Somebody please turn off the _lights—" whispered the teenager miserably, her voice shaky.  One hand crept down and rubbed gingerly against her hip; she winced visably, and a suspicion crept through Sato's mind….._

_*Oh CRAP.*  She_ had to know.

"Ummm… Ran-chan?  Do you—remember what happened after we got here last night?"  Damn, even _talking hurt._

The girl flinched, opening dazed and bloodshot eyes.  "I, uhhh…..  Oh.  I—hope not, I _really_ hope not……"  Then her eyes widened in horror and she snatched her hand away from her hip as if bitten by her own skin.  "S-Sato-kun?  _Please_ t-tell me we didn't each get… get a….."

Their gazes met.

"…..We *did,* didn't we?  We… got….. **tattooed**."

Sato groaned, .  "Your father is going to KILL me.  And I think I'll load the gun for him."

"….. sngggggggghh….."  One of the drowsing crossdressers shifted in his sleep, a bra-strap showing on his bared shoulder.

Carefully her companion slid a little forward, resting her elbows on her knees and her forehead in her hands.  "Sonoko… tried to talk me into getting one once… you know?"  She sounded slightly dazed, rambling on as if in shock.  "We were going to go to a classmate's house, her friend's sister worked at a parlor down on Juuichi Street…..  Sonoko wanted to get some sort of flower vine around her upper arm and she wanted me to get—"

"Uh, Ran?"

"—a heart with a—  What?  Huh?"  Blinking, Mouri Ran looked up at Sato.

"What… do you suppose we DID get?  I can't remember….."

The girl blanched, tiny freckles that would usually go unnoticed standing out against her pallor.  Her eyes strayed to a door in the corner of the room that read 'RESTROOM'; they'd have to step over a number of slumbering crossdressers to get to it, but...  "You go first."

"……. Thanks loads, Ran……."

_Two mutual trips to the restroom later:_

Ran sat down carefully on the bench again, avoiding Sato's eyes; she rubbed nervously at her forehead, and a blush stood out in bright tell-tale on her pale face.  "Ummm— what did you get?"

The young officer eyed her somewhat sourly.  _"…You go first."_

Ran grimaced.  "Let's just say that Sonoko'll like it."

"A heart, huh?  …..What's _on the heart?"_

The young woman blinked.  "How did you know--  Sato-kun, _how did you know that there was something on the heart?  How'd you know it wasn't just a plain heart?"  Her blush deepened as the detective just quirked one tired eyebrow in her direction.  "Um.  If you must know… it's a…"  Her voice trailed off._

"—a—?"

"asortofnumeralone."

"A *what*??"

"….. sngggggggghh….. SNGHk?...... sxxxzzz….."

Ran scowled_.  "A-sort-of-numeral-ONE,_ okay?"  She closed her eyes and moaned softly as the raising of her own voice made her headache even worse.  "A kanji.  You know, 'ichi'…..?"

Now it was Sato's turn to blink; her lips twitched in the bare beginnings of a grin.  "You mean as in 'Kudo Shin—"

"—ichi, yes….."  Ran buried her burning face back in her hands.  "And if you ever tell ANYONE, I swear, Sato-kun, my dad WILL kill you because I'll tell HIM and he'll—"  The rest of the threat was muffled by both hands and the misery of her hangover but sounded distinctly and unmistakably sincere; Sato nodded in response, carefully rubbing at the site of her own discomfort.  Dim memories of a surly voice growling _'If ya pick at it it won't heal— keep it sterile an' put antibiotic salve on it twice a day or it'll go septic on ya'_ made her stop.

"Errr, If it's any help… mine sort of matches yours."  She sighed, deeply and gloomily.  "Only I've got something a lot more embarrassing on _*my*_ heart….."  As Ran's eyes widened the young officer nodded, her own face flushing a deep red.

"What _*is*_ it?  I mean, what could be more embarrassing than having even *part* of somebody's name tattooed on your skin??"  A look of dread and speculation crossed the teenager's countenance and she pushed a tumble of disheveled hair from her eyes, waiting.

"Well….."  Sato ducked her head.  "What is it that you never find a cop without?  What do we _*always* carry with us, no matter what rank we are?"_

"Ummmm…. A badge?"

The detective shook her aching head; around her the snores of the slumbering crossdressers seemed to mock her.  "Good guess, but no… not quite—"

Ran's forehead wrinkled and she let out a small hiss of pain, rubbing at her eyes again.  "Owww…..  Not a gun, because not all cops get issued guns….. a uniform'd look sort of silly….."  Suddenly her eyes widened, bugging out slightly as she raised her head.  "Oh, _SATO_—not—??"  And she held both hands out in front of her, fists side by side and wrists close together.  Sato nodded glumly, her face now approaching the color generally known as magenta.

"…szzznerkks…..zzSNORT!!sszzgt….. sneeeerkkkksz…."

There was relative silence for a moment as they both considered the idea.  A muffled snort escaped Ran, and Sato glanced sideways at her; the young woman was biting her lip hard.  "Well….. THAT ought to be interesting to explain to Ta— errrr, to _somebody someday."_

"Tell me about it," growled Detective Sato.  To her left there was movement; both young women jumped slightly and stared as Momo-san, geisha-at-large and the party responsible for the whole mess began to laugh a great, guffawing laugh…..

***********************************************

Detective Takagi Wataru breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief as he mopped at his face with a handful of paper towels.  The men's restroom in the small café that had opened its doors to the busload of soggy passengers wasn't exactly the equivalent of a shower and a change of clothes, but it helped.  At least he wasn't looking *quite* like somebody you'd find sleeping in a cardboard box in an alley anymore…

Splashing sounds from the other sink made him glance a little sideways; Conan-kun was busily washing his face, making quite a mess of the floor below the sink as he dripped rainwater all over the place.  Still enveloped in his borrowed fishy-smelling jacket, the boy glanced up at the detective's perusal; "What?"

"Nothing."  The detective dried his hands.  "You still have a smear on your forehead—"

An impatient shrug indicated that Conan could not have cared less about smears or anything else of the sort; the faux gradeschooler leaned back against the sink, arms crossed.  "So—how do you want to handle this, Takagi?"  One small eyebrow went up and the older man felt a trickle of discomfort creep down his spine at the sharp, direct gaze.  "Any ideas on the culprit?"

Takagi hesitated; scratching at the back of his head with a habitual gesture, he frowned.  "Yeah, a few…  you?"

An identical frown crossed the young features.  "One or two…  The usual three factors have to be covered here, just like with any other murder:  _method, opportunity _and_ motive._  The killer had to have access to the murder weapon, a chance to plant it where it would do what they wanted it to do, and a reason to kill."  Chewing on his lip a little, the small boy scowled harder and leaned over to tie his shoe; tangled dark hair fell forward, hiding his face.  "The second one's the easiest to weed out—"

The detective nodded, pulling out his Occurance Book.  "I have a list of everyone's position on the bus here, plus a pretty good schedule of when they boarded."  He watched as his diminutive companion straightened, noting absently that Conan had somehow managed to pick up a number of twigs and scraps of grass in his sodden hair.  "If we work from the basis that the driver would've hit the point of the lancet pretty quickly after it was positioned, that tells us it had to be set up not too long before he died."

Conan nodded, pulling out his glasses and wiping at the lenses with a paper towel.  "That'd be right—it was sticking out pretty far; there's no way he could miss it for more than a few minutes."  He shoved the glasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger, eyes distant.  "You know, though, Takagi?  There's something bothering me about the whole thing… that lancet.  It's not exactly standard medical equipment, is it?  But I think I've seen one like it before, _some_where—"

Takagi nodded; it had been bothering him too.  He reached into one pocket and pulled out the evidence baggie containing the weapon in question; the small, sharp point glinted evilly beneath the restroom's overhead lighting.  "Did you notice how thick the needle is?  I've had my blood drawn a few times by finger-prick at the doctor's, and he always uses this tiny little thing he calls a 'sharpie'—"  The needle in question was nearly the thickness of a pencil-lead, angled at the tip; the interior channel was encrusted with now-dry bee venom.  "It looks more like the sort of thing you'd use for an IV… but the end's closed off."  The flat rubber bulb at the needle's terminus had no openings but was blind, meant to hold fluids of one sort or another.

_*Weird; nowadays when a blood sample's being drawn, most of the time they either just take a drop or so or they start filling up vials.  Who uses something like this?*  An_ odd suspicion crossed Takagi's mind and he turned the thing over carefully, looking for a brand-name or product number; no good.  It was as blank as an empty sheet of paper….. which was fairly odd in itself.  He passed it over to the boy, who carefully slid it out of the baggie with a bit of towel.  "See anything peculiar about it?"

The dark blue eyes were as sharp as needles themselves, dissecting what lay before them.  It only took a few seconds for the mind behind those eyes to come to a conclusion:  "It's _old._  Not *very* old, but old enough that it doesn't even have a 'Made In Japan' label or company marking on it—not something you see on modern medical equipment."  Delicately he held it up by one corner of the baggie, checking each detail from less than six inches away.  "Nobody'd sell something like this nowadays; so where did the murderer get it?"  He passed it back.  "Can I see your notes again?"  The detective passed over his Occurance Book, chewing on his lip as he thought.

"So we've got a suspect that has access to obsolete medical or lab equipment and bee venom and hates bus drivers," said Takagi slowly; he shook his head, dislodging a few remaining drops of rainwater.  "They came onto the bus, planted the thing when the busdriver was out of his seat, then watched him die.  What sort of—"

"…………….Takagi—"

"Hmm?"  The detective glanced back at the boy and his eyes widened; if he had thought the kid—Kudo, that is—had looked intent *before*…..  "What?  Did you think of something?"

"No, _you_ did.  You just said it—the murderer had to plant the murder weapon _when the busdriver had gotten out of his seat;_ they couldn't place it unless he was up.  What would make him do that?  I mean, during a route, not while the bus was at the station?"

The older man opened his mouth—and then shut it abruptly, a look of dawning understanding crossing his face.  "A driver would _only_ get up during a route—"

"—to _help someone up the stairs or to their seat._  So at what times did he do _that?"_  Conan's eyes were bright and hard with something that approached triumph; it was that same look that Takagi had seen several times before, the look that did _not_ belong on a child's face.

(In bizarre contrast to this, the not-really-a-little-boy was nearly bouncing on his feet in excitement.  Sometimes Takagi had to wonder about Kudo…..)

He scratched at his head again.  "Okay, we need to sit down somewhere and—"

The door opened; one of the grubbier-looking dockworkers pushed through, rubbing tired eyes with a large hand.  He halted at the sight of the bathroom's two occupants.  "You still awake, kid?  Figured you'd be curled up in a corner asleep somewhere by now…"

Takagi gave him a nervous smile, wondering if the guy had overheard anything from outside.  "Heh heh, kids these days…..  They never know when to quit, do they?"  From the corner of his eye he saw the face at elbow-level flicker rapidly from startlement to annoyance and then to sleepy-eyed innocence.  

Nodding vigorously, the apparent gradeschooler blinked up at the dockworker.  "It's the best way to learn about police stuff—that way I can be a really _good_ cop when I grow up," he earnestly assured the man; this statement was followed by a jaw-cracking yawn which somewhat spoiled the effect, but the dockworker chuckled and reached down to ruffle the damp hair with a fishy-smelling hand.

"Guess you're havin' a pretty exciting night, huh?  Won't your mom and dad get worried, you bein' out so late?"  The man (Takagi remembered his name vaguely, something like Hidaka or Hidoko) busied himself at the sink, scrubbing; the scent of soap and old fish filled the air.

The detective blinked; "Uhhhh--- he's---"

But Conan had matters under control.  "Nooo… I'm staying the night with my niisan, so they don't know yet."  With an air of childlike unconcern he began flipping through his "niisan's" Occurance Book.  "What does _'in-de-cent ex-po-sure'_ mean, Niisan?"  He read the phrase out loud and looked up inquisitively at the older man, a subdued flicker of mischief glimmering at the back of his little boy's eyes.

Takagi shot him a hastily-camoflaged dirty look.  "Never mind," he said firmly; "Maybe you'd better find a place to sit down at a table or something, okay?"  A thought struck him.  "And maybe we can find you some crayons or something to play with….."  He smiled down at the boy, suppressing a snicker.  _*Payback, "otochan"…..*  Drying his hands, the dockworker at the sink chuckled._

Somewhat to Takagi's surprise, however, Conan beamed back up at him.  "I'd like that—I really would."  He grinned, and a spark of something rather predatory and not at all childish flared behind the mask.  "I think… I'll draw a picture of the bus.  I can put where everybody was sitting and all that stuff, and write down when they came in….. just like a real detective making a report.  Right?  And then I can _*show* it to you when I'm done….."_

_*Huh.  Nice idea, Kudo—we can collaborate in plain sight like that, can't we?*  "_Sure."  He pushed open the door, shepherding his small charge in front of him; the dockworker followed.  "Let's see if the owners have something you can use….."

As the warm air of the outer room struck them, Takagi glanced down at the top of the small, tousled head in front of him.  _*And let's see some of those detective skills you're so famous for; it's time we finished this.*_

***********************************************

Mouri Ran groaned, her head in her hands.  She was not dealing well with her hangover, and the discovery of her tattoo had NOT helped.  

"Just think of it this way," advised Momo-san, placing a steaming cup on the linoleum countertop beside her as the rain drummed down on the roof overhead; "Nobody'll know it's there unless you tell 'em…..  I mean, how's your dad gonna find out if nobody squeals?  Sato-san here'll keep shut about it—won't ya?"  He beamed in her direction with a wide, toothy smile.

The young woman shook her head, gritting her teeth against the pain that the jarring movement caused.  "It's not my _dad I'm worried about," she said glumly, peering into the tea cup; "—it's my _*mom.*  When_ she finds out I managed to get myself tattooed, she'll….."  Her voice trailed off in the dread and apprehension that only an attorney's daughter can know as the possibilities presented themselves.  "Oh God….. and if _SHINICHI_ ever finds out—"  Ran's face showed a peculiar combination of white pallor and high red spots on her cheekbones.  ".......Oh _God_.…… ……."_

Beside her Sato swallowed hard and closed her eyes; right, Ran's mom was a lawyer.  There went all her promotion opportunities for the rest of her life.

"Kisaki Eri, right?"  At the two women's startled looks Momo-san nodded, apparently pleased (as far as could be determined, anyway, beneath the heavy layers of makeup and his askew black wig.)  He smirked, stirring his own cup with a plastic spoon and leaning heavily on the edge of the counter in a most ungeisha-like sprawl.  "If she gets too shirty about it, just ask her what _*she's*_ got on her left shoulderblade, huh?"

There was a moment of silence; snores from the rest of the sleeping crossdressers out in the main room could clearly be heard.  "Uhhhh… Momo-san, you're saying that Mom—that MY mother—has a…..??"  Ran's eyes widened even more; automatically she took a sip from the steaming cup as the geisha-clad man passed another one over to Sato.  _"MY mom?!?"_

The large, cross-dressing owner of the Blue Oyster Bar grinned.  "You'd be amazed at what goes on at some of those legal conventions after hours sometimes; y'know how it is---  the drinks start flying, people start bar-hopping and daring each other to do stuff—and kid, lemmee tell you:  Lawyers HATE to lose face.  Heh; if provoked enough, they'll even go to a gay bar….."  He snickered, upending his cup.  The scent of tea filled the damp air, fragrant and strong.

"Errrr….?"  Sato was having a hard time reconciling the concepts of "Kisaki Eri" and "tattoo" in her mind; she knew Ran's mother vaguely from contacts in the past and had always considered her privately to be something of a barracuda.  "Momo-san?  How in the _*world*_ do you know her?  I mean… uh, she's not exactly…"  The young detective floundered for words; her head hurt and her mouth didn't seem to want to obey her at the moment.

Momo-san laughed, sprawling even further back on the countertop; it creaked as he hitched up one hip.  "Went to school with the lady."  

The crossdresser raised one plucked eyebrow at his two guest's dumbfounded stares.  "What?  Don't I look like a college graduate?"  He preened, tossing his head a bit and knocking his wig even more sideways; strands had come loose and it was beginning to resemble something furry that had crawled up onto his head and died there.

Sato shook her head, dismissing the whole idea of lawyers and tattoos with a shudder; she didn't really want to know.  The detective took a careful swallow of her own tea (Earl Grey, with milk; apparently tattoo-parlor owners had rather refined tastes when it came to hot drinks) and sighed as the warmth began to dispel her hangover.  Upon waking, Momo-san had herded the two women back into the owner's office, where he had helped himself liberally to the contents of the tiny 'fridge and other supplies.  The owner himself was still slumped out front in a snoring heap; he was a large, balding man with an American accent and a strong suggestion of too many deep-fried peanutbutter sandwiches about his expansive waistline.   His snores had a distinct nasal sound to them, and occasionally he muttered to himself in unintelligibly in slurred English.  Sato had a faint memory of his voice encouraging her from the night before….

_*"Now just sit still—ya want this to be blurred?  Okay, then, don't twitch—"*  She_ shuddered again and buried her nose in her teacup.

There was a sharp _clink!_ from across the room as Momo-san sat his empty cup back down.  "Y'know," he said conversationally over the background of rainfall and snores, "these guys you two ladies are involved with _*really*_ need to get their acts together..."

His comment had all the impact that one would find in, say, the meeting of the HMS TITANIC and an iceberg—horrified stares, distressed noises (splutterings rather than screams) and sinking feelings.  Ran was the first to find her voice.  "We—how do you--  Oh— did we _TALK_ to you about them last night?!?"  Momo-san's grin only widened.  "We did, didn't we?"

"Sure did—_both_ of you."  He shot them a sideways glance and a snicker as he contemplated the bottom of his cup.  "Wonder if King-san keeps any lemon tea here?"

"Bottom shelf," answered Ran absentmindedly, rubbing at the bridge of her nose.  She closed her eyes.  "Just—what *did* we say, Momo-san?"  There was a note of both fascination and horror in the young woman's voice—it was like being present at a car-wreck; you just couldn't look away or leave it alone, no matter how much you wanted to….

"Oh, _tons've_ stuff, Ran-chan."

_"Tons?"_  The teenager sounded utterly mortified, and Sato felt her stomach flip over.  _*Oh no……  What did ***I*** say?*_

"Mmm-hmmm….. tons.  Like, for instance…."  Momo-san stretched a little, cracking his large knuckles before him and pausing archly; "… well, let's see:  This 'Shinichi' guy you're so fond of--  you think he has nice eyes, you like how he laughs—" (he slid off his seat and began rummaging around in the small locker where the tea was kept) "—and you really think he looks pretty _damned_ good in swimtrunks, 'specially tight ones—"

Ran went scarlet.  "I do NOT!!"

A chuckle was all the answer her rebuttal received.  "Aaaaand…..  you're worried 'bout him, and you wish he'd call more often, and you'd *REALLY* like him to tell you how he feels 'bout you…..."  Momo-san pulled out the box of lemon tea triumphantly.  "Oh, and then you got sorta maudlin and started absolutely _moaning_ about how maybe he's forgotten you and all that crap….."  The bar-owner filled his cup from the electric kettle that sat steaming on top of a cinderblock in the corner of the room, raising one eyebrow at his audience's stunned silence.  "Let's see… and then you went back to the swimtrunks.  And little tiny soccer shorts, too….."  He smirked—no, he *leered.*  A smirk would have been  more gentile.

Mouri Ran opened her mouth and then closed it, choking so hard on her protests that Sato was afraid she was going to require CPR.  

"…oh, and you liked his legs too.  In fact," said Momo-san, warming to the conversation and leaning back against the locker with his brewing cup resting beside him, "you 'n Sato-chan here really got into a little conversation 'bout legs and shoulders and that sort of thing….."

"We did **_NOT!!_**_" sputtered both Ran __and Sato at the same time, sweating._

"OH yes you did.  Ladies, that old saying 'bout _In Vino Veritas_—y'know, 'In Wine There is Truth'—they don't just say that to watch their lips flap.  'Course, what you two were drinking last night wasn't exactly *wine*… I don't think it was, anyway…. Mmmmm; what was it, or do you remember?"  For a second Momo-san looked a little uneasy; the great, white-smeared forehead crinkled below the wig.  "Neither one've you feels like you're going _blind or anything like that, do you?"  At their mute headshakes he relaxed, shoulders untensing beneath the kimono.  "Good; guess I didn't give you any of the scumble; for something that's made mainly from apples, that shit packs _*quite*_ a kick."  He chuckled._

Horrific visions of possible trips to the local Emergency Clinic passed through Sato's mind; "…What does this 'scumble' look like?"

Momo-chan waved her concerns away with a large, beringed hand.  "Never mind, keiji-chan; if you'd had some, you'd KNOW by now."  He took a sip of his tea and made a face; "Needs to brew longer…  Now, _listen_ you two.  Looks to me like you two managed to get yourselves involved with a couple of guys who've got pretty good _*brains*….. but absolutely no _*clues.*_"  He snorted; "Which is pretty damned funny since one of 'em's a cop and the other one's some sorta detective."_

Both woman nodded to themselves silently and exchanged glances, faces flushed; the thought _had_ occurred to them both before…..

"Now—"  Momo-san sat his cup down and folded his arms, regarding the two young women with an amused grin.  "—the question you two need to ask yourselves is this:  Is it *worth* waiting around for these guys?  Or maybe you oughtta start looking around?  There's more than two fish in the sea, y'know….. and _some_ guys wouldn't see a clue if it ran past 'em butt-naked with 'CLUE' painted across it in huge red letters and a bow tied around it's—um, neck….."

Sato sighed, rubbing at her aching forehead with one hand that still smelled as strongly as ever of kimchee and oyster sauce, not to mention whisky.  "I know, I know….. and it's not like I haven't thought about, uhh, taking the lead lately; if Megure-san hadn't interrupted us in that alley yesterday, we'd—well, things would be _different by now, that's all."  She sat back with a disgusted snort, wondering why she had picked Takagi over the other guys she had known; she shook her head at her own pigheadedness—and at *his.*  _

_"Men….."_

"Amen to that, sweetheart…..  Y'can't live with 'em, but the skin's too thin for a rug."  Momo-san clucked, nodding; Sato and Ran both gave him a startled glance, then blinked.  The large sort-of-geisha picked up his cup and took a sip.  "You two want some more?"  At their murmurs of agreement and thankfully-proffered empty cups, the bar-owner busied himself making more tea.  Sato watched him in silence, wondering in the back of her thoughts where he had gotten such a *big* kimono; most of her mind, however, was directed towards the problem of Men.

_*Take Shiratori, for instance.  He's nice, he's good-looking, and he'll make rank a lot faster than Takagi will because he's far more aggressive about that sort of thing.  And he likes me….. but…..*_

_*…..but whenever I think about both of them together, I always want to hand Takagi a comb or bug him about his driving; or I want to tell him about a book I just read, or a movie I heard of that's coming up and maybe he might want to go see it?  I don't think that way about Shiratori-san; he's… sort of polished, all glossy and smooth; and maybe I just don't *like* polished as much as I like natural or something.  Huh; I'm making them sound like teak tabletops—*_

_*Takagi's eyes are like teak, dark and warm.  The way he looks at me sometimes when he doesn't know I'm watching, when he blushes like he's not sure he ought to be thinking what he's thinking--*_

_*I guess….. maybe he DOES have a clue.  Maybe he just doesn't know what to do with it.*_

_*Maybe I should….. show him?*_

"Sato?  Sato-kun?"  

Ran's worried voice hinted that her name had been called more than once.  The detective straightened up in her chair hastily.  "What?  Sorry…. I was thinking—"  Squatting beside the cinderblock Momo-san chuckled as he poured hot water, a deep rolling chuckle that left little question of whether he knew what Sato had been 'thinking' about.  

"What _ARE_ you going to do?  I mean… if you don't mind me asking…?"

The young officer shrugged, quirking one eyebrow up and casting a baleful gaze on her companion.  "OH no.  This time *you* go first, Ran…..  Well?"

The young woman looked down at her toes, both hands twisting together in her lap.  "He—Shinichi…..  He's been gone for so _long now—" she said wistfully and more than a little shyly.  "I've known him for so long I hardly remember meeting him—we've been around each other ever since we were really little, and we've always--  I mean—"  _

Ran hesitated, fighting to get the words right.  "We've _ALWAYS_ been—close.  When I went to school, he was always right there; when I played, he played with me.  Even when his parents took him to Hawaii it wasn't for _*that* long, and one time they took me with them because he made such a stupid fuss about it—"  She rubbed at her temples, looking miserable._

"So?" asked Momo-san calmly, taking a large sip of his tea.  "Just because you've known somebody forever doesn't mean you HAVE to stay with 'em—"

"I… know.  And he only calls me now and then… and I've only seen him ONCE, really, a few months ago when he showed up on stage dressed as the Black Knight—"  At Sato's confused expression Ran sighed and explained.  "It was a school play, and all of a sudden there he was, and then there was this murder—"

_(*Of course there was,*_ thought Sato wryly; _*From what I've heard the boy draws out murderers like a bug-zapper draws insects.*)_

"—and well… we went out to dinner after it was all over and I really thought he was… going to say… **_something_**…………."  Her voice trailed off; after a moment Ran wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and took a deep breath. 

"He's really brilliant, you know?  He can read people so well; he can work out people's motives and how they think, he can tell when people are lying-----"  She took another deep gulp of breath that was almost a sob and burst out, "—so WHY doesn't he ever act like he knows how **_*I*_** feel?!?  When we talk on the phone, he—I--  We just talk about regular stuff, and I ask him when he'll be coming back, and he can _never tell me.  WHY doesn't he know that I—feel like this?!?  WHY NOT?!?"  She wiped at her eyes again, and Sato handed her a tea-stained paper napkin, her own eyes dark in sympathy._

"Ran-chan?"  Momo-san's rather strident voice was oddly gentle.

"W-what?"

"What makes you think he _*doesn't*_ know how you feel?"

The girl stared at him, her lashes starred with unshed tears.  "He—because he never—"

Momo-san shook his bewigged head.  "You just told me yourself, Ran-chan; this Shinichi guy, he's great at reading people's motives and the way they think, right?  So why couldn't he see how YOU feel, girl?  Hell, if you two've been together so much through your lives, he oughtta be able to read every emotion you got!"  The bar-owner reached out and patted her on one shoulder; his painted nails sparkled in the overhead light.  "He *does* know, Ran-chan—you take it from me.  If he's as good as you say, then he _knows.  He may not say so for one reason or another, and they might even be good ones; last night you said he was away on some sort've case, right?  Maybe it's dangerous; maybe he doesn't wanna get you involved so's you won't get hurt.  Would he do that sort of thing, you think maybe?"_

She nodded dumbly as the napkin crumpled in her fingers.  Momo-san nodded back in turn, a thoughtful look on his broad face.  "Yeah--  You're a good girl, Ran-chan; can't see you falling for a complete idiot—and stop with the blushing, okay?"  He grinned.  "Okay, so he knows; now lemme ask you something.  This last time you saw him—you told me a little bit 'bout it last night.  You were gonna kiss him right on stage, weren't you?"  The deep chuckle filled the room again.  "Ooo-oooooh, blush, blush…..  you _were._  But was HE willing to kiss you?"  A deeper chuckle.  "Oh he WAS, was he?  And you said you thought he was gonna tell you 'something' later.  I'd say the chances are pretty damned good he feels something pretty strong for you too.  So….. whatcha gonna do about it, Ran?"

She sat silent, thinking, turning the wadded napkin over and over in her somewhat grimy fingers.  "I….. can't contact him; I don't even know where he is," she said slowly, resolve beginning to strengthen in her eyes and voice.  "But he *does* contact me every few weeks or once a month or so….. and when he does, maybe I should just—"

"—talk to him, Ran; you should talk to him."  Ran's head jerked up and she stared at Sato, who gave her a rather tired but understanding smile.  "Don't let him slip away; it's too easy to do."  The detective's eyes narrowed and she nodded a decisive nod.  "Talking—most men are _terrified of talking about relationships, I don't know why, but… they are.  So—why not just act like you two have already told each other how you feel, and just go on from there?"  The teenager stared at her with wide-eyed, sudden understanding as she shrugged.  "In a way, you __have."_

"And—and what about *you,* Sato-kun?"  Mouri Ran's voice was steadier now with resolve;  "What will _you do about Takagi-san?"_

Sato blinked.  "Practice what I preached, I guess; as a matter of fact….." and a slow smile lit up her weary face from within, making her dark eyes sparkle; "…as a matter of fact, we've got some unfinished business between us to take care of….."

Momo-san raised both eyebrows in feigned shock.  "Sato-san, Sato-san, WHAT'S come over my favorite cop?"  He laughed a deep, rolling laugh.  "You _*GO* girl--!"_

"Um, Momo-san?"  Ran smiled up at the crossdressing geisha bar-owner with an expression of somewhat bewildered gratitude.  "Thanks for the… for the tea and sympathy.  But how'd you get so good at giving advice about, well, about people's love-lives?"

The large man chuckled again.  "You mean about men in particular?  Honey, I _*am* one—and **_I_ been watching men for a helluva long time."  He reached across and tapped the young woman's nose with a broad fingertip.  "There ain't NOTHING anybody can teach Momo-san about _*men.*"_**_

***********************************************

"…… and that's pretty much the whole story."  Detective Takagi had just finished explaining the evening's events to his coworker, Mufune Hotoro.  The other employee of Tokyo's Metro Police Force was eyeing him rather suspiciously (Takagi had a reputation (entirely undeserved, in his own opinion) of ending up in tough spots through Murphy's Law) but seemed willing to suspend disbelief for the moment.

The young rookie detective frowned, chewing nervously on his bottom lip.   He was a short, rather stocky character, still new enough to be just a little shaken by the corpse that he had seen conveyed off in the ambulance.  A shooting or knifing, well, those were understandable in the heat of an argument; but calculated, cold-blooded, methodical murder?  Takagi had seen his eyes widen at the sight of the ugly little lancet full of venom; he wondered privately to himself how long it would take Mufune-san to get used to the idea that some people actually _spent time_ figuring out how to kill others and get away with it.

He wondered briefly how long it had taken _*him*_ to take it in; and, glancing across at the quiet little boy who sat scribbling so busily beside them on a sheet of paper with a bright red crayon, he wondered just a bit about Kudo Shinichi as well.

Never mind.  Neither of them needed distractions just then.  But it bothered Takagi sometimes, thinking about how much he had become accustomed to looking for the hidden reasons behind murder and death; he had heard it called the "policeman's eye" before, that way of seeing the unobvious and the disguised.  He supposed it was a good thing to have, considering his occupation.  But right now—

--right now, looking over Mufune's shoulder at a roomful of people which held a murderer hidden somewhere among them like a poisonous snake in a grassy field—right now, he sort of wished he had Sato-san around to talk to.  She had the "eye", no doubt about it, and things always seemed a little clearer when she was around.

She was almost certainly asleep by now.  He wondered if she had thought about him any before she had fallen asleep.

_*Rrrgh.  Enough.  Get back to business, Takagi.*_

"Ehhh--  Takagi-keiji?  I was wondering—"  The hesitant voice made him wrench his attention from more interesting thoughts and his mind from wandering.  Mufune had one of those bushy eyebrows of his up, an inquiring look in his eyes.   "I, uh, don't mean to pry, but… did you know that you sorta smell like—"

Takagi winced.  "Yeah, yeah, I know," he muttered, cursing all cattle that had ever mooed and vowing to eat as much beef as possible in the near future.  "Don't ask."  He was uncomfortably aware that the fumes from his smeared and sodden shoes were stronger than ever in the dry warmth of the café.  Hastily the detective changed the subject.  "Okay, what've you got on the passengers?"

The other detective had been pulling what information he could over the static-ridden phone lines, now that the weather had calmed down a little; flipping open his own notepad, he began scanning down through the pages.  "Let's see…..  Got a prior record for your clerk over there;" he said, glancing at the white-collar worker, who blinked back nervously.  "Nothing big—looks like he did a little minor insurance fraud a couple of years ago; tried to claim a little more damage in a car accident than was actually done.  Found a little information on your dockworkers—" and he nodded at the trio of burly men drinking coffee at the furthest of the tables, who paid neither officer any attention whatsoever (one of them had dredged up a dog-eared pack of cards and a poker game was just getting going).  "It looks like a couple of them were busted about fifteen years ago for a little gang trouble, fighting and that sort of thing.  The one with the brush-cut did eight months' time and has been picked up for two bar-brawls since, but I wouldn't consider him to be much of a problem."

Mufune-keiji scratched at his head, looking puzzled.  "It doesn't look like you've got much in the way of suspects here….. none of them lived near the busdriver or went to school with him years ago, none of them are related--  I even checked out those American girls' passports and _they're_ clean.  The other teenager too; no problems there, and the woman with the baby's okay as well."  He shrugged, looking nonplussed; apparently Mufune-san was still green enough to look for a smoking gun right off the bat, which (as Takagi could tell him) really very rarely happened…..

_*Never mind.  He'll learn.*_

"So—what about the older passengers?"  The elderly woman from the back of the bus and the couple that had sat near the front were attempting to make conversation over tea with the old man and his sister; they didn't seem to be too interested in talking, though, from the troubled look on the grandmotherly first woman's face.  In contrast, the thin, lined face of the woman with the walker (Yamashii Ne, he recalled) seemed to be closed in and stern; her companion (her brother?  Yeah, that was right) looked rather edgy.

Mufune clicked his tongue against his teeth, paging further through his notebook.  "No—nothing odd about them.  The Shiros there—" (that was the first couple) "—they live about five kilometers further down the road in some sort of retirement complex.  The woman's a retired teacher and the man ran a drug-store until a few years ago.  The lady next to them's a retired nurse, no record, used to be employed at Kino Hospital.  The second couple, the Yamashiis, they live pretty close by—just a stop or two along.  The woman doesn't work, and her brother—"

"—works as a part-time handyman at the University; I remember.  No dirt on them?"  There was something about their expressions that bothered Takagi for some reason.  Maybe it was the tight look of control on the old woman's face?  That was the face of a born poker-player if he had ever seen one; maybe he ought to suggest that she sit in on the dockworkers' game?

Or maybe he was just getting punchy from fatigue…..

"Just a couple of old parking tickets, nothing recent.  Oh, and----"  Mufune hesitated, dropping his voice a little more.  "Well, there was that suicide a few months ago--  you remember?  That was their sister…"

_*Sister?*  "_Mufune-san, do you know how *many* people decide to kill themselves in Tokyo every day?"  Takagi took a deep breath, rubbing at the back of his neck with one grubby hand; he was really beginning to feel just how long the day had been.  What time was it, anyway?  "If I remembered _all of them I'd—well, I'd be pretty depressed, I guess…..  What happened?"_

The other man looked apologetic.  "Sorry—it's just that it was one of my first cases; I'd only been on the force for a week or so, and—well, you know how you remember your first cases…  Anyway, those two had a sister who walked right out into traffic one day.  Just up and killed herself—she was in bad health and she wanted the insurance money to go to the other two, or that's what the note she had on her said."  He sighed; the eyes under the bushy brows looked tired too, and Takagi wondered what kind of day _he had had._

_*Whoa; hang on a minute here--*  Suicide_?  That meant that--  

"But… if she committed suicide, the insurance companies wouldn't pay the full benefits, would they?"  He glanced back at the pair of geriatric siblings; the other couple had apparently given up on chatting and were sitting back and talking quietly together, looking fatigued.  The Yamashiis, though…..

The old woman was hunting through her purse; after a second or so she pulled out a cough-drop (Takagi recognized the brand; it was one of those sugar-free, tasteless things Sato's friend Miyamoto-what's-her-name used sometimes) and unwrapped it.  Beside her her brother sat staring at nothing, his face almost expressionless—

--almost.  There was a slight tremor about his lined jowls, and he glanced up momentarily to meet Takagi's eyes before looking away.  The detective blinked, the fog of weariness suddenly dispelling.  That flash in the old man's eyes… had looked an awful lot like _*fear.*_

(Somewhere in the back of his mind he noticed that the sounds of coloring beside him had ceased.)

Now, WHY would an old man be afraid of a cop?  Of course, _lots_ of people were—it was the typical human sense of paranoia in action; any cop knew that.  All you had to do to slow down entire blocks full of traffic was to cruise by in a squad car, even if nobody was speeding.  But there was something odd about this guy's expression…..

"—Yeah.  That was sort of stupid of her, I guess."  _*Huh?  Oh, right; the suicide.*  Mufune was going on, also eyeing the Yamashiis surreptitiously.  "If there hadn't been a note, the death would probably have been ruled as accidental; but the woman who hit her found the note and handed it over—she had it tucked inside the handle of her walker.  Sort of a weird place for a suicide note, but the grip came loose and it got noticed and passed over to us when we showed up with the ambulance."_

The continued silence beside him made him glance sideways; from the corner of his eye, Takagi saw Conan's head lift a little, saw the flash of light across his glasses as he turned to look thoughtfully across the room at the elderly pair.  As he did so, the detective caught a glimpse of what the apparent gradeschooler had been drawing so diligently—it looked remarkably like a seating diagram from the bus, done in careful notation with crayoned commentary beside the placement of each figure…..

He cleared his throat warningly; Conan—Kudo— looked up, caught his eye and glanced at Mufune (who seemed oblivious to the fact that his co-worker's "otochan" seemed to be a bit on the *advanced* side); one small hand quickly slid a piece of blank paper with a rather clumsy drawing of a squadcar on it over the diagram.  The dark blue eyes flickered back up to his face, gratitude flashing quickly behind the lenses… and then there was just a sleepy little boy, who tugged at Takagi's sleeve and said "Niichan?  Will you look at my drawings?  I drew a picture of the bus for you….."  Somehow he managed to sound disarmingly cute.

"Your little brother?  Too bad he got stuck in all this—"  Mufune grinned down at the boy, who smiled tentatively back and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.  "Doesn't look like you much, does he?"

Takagi shook his head.  "Uhhhh—not exactly; just a friend's kid."  He shrugged uneasily, then hesitated; they needed Mufune conveniently out of the way for a few minutes.  "Hey—could you do one more check for me?  See if the driver had any weirdness in his background as well, will you?"

Mufune blinked.  "Weirdness?"

"Yeah—weirdness.  You know, accidents or convictions that stand out, relatives that died recently, that sort of stuff.  Wierdness."

The other detective nodded bemusedly.  "Okay…. 'weirdness.'  Right."  He got up, still looking a little dubious, and wandered towards the entrance to the café's small porch where the reception would be better for his cellphone.  On the way he got tagged by the nervous white-collar clerk; from the somewhat urgent conversation between the two (and the hopeful looks on the tired faces around them) the man wanted to know why they were being kept so late.  

Takagi smiled a little wryly to himself; reality wasn't much like the cop shows, where problems were solved in a neat hour-long package…  As Mufune-san hedged and attempted to placate his audience, Takagi leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table.  "So," he said softly, "What've you got for me?"

The tousled, damp brown head beside him tilted a little as Conan grunted.  "Maybe something, maybe nothing….."  He tugged out the bus-diagram from its hiding place.  "Here's a timeline for you, showing when each person after us boarded and where they sat.  It's not much… but I don't think we're going to _need_ much, really."  The boy regarded his diagram and frowned, dark blue eyes brooding.  "Let's see…..  When we boarded, there were six passengers:  The old couple, the teenager with the headphones and the three dockworkers.  So far I haven't worked out any connections between any of them and the victim, other than the fact that they ride home most days on his route."  

Conan's quiet voice was clipped and precise, a little remote as he considered the facts with a detachment that would have done any professional detective credit; Takagi listened, fascinated.  "The passengers that boarded after us were the three teenage girls, the white-collar type, the elderly woman that went to sit in the back, the Yamashiis and the woman with the baby."  He paused, his eyes darkening; the small, rounded face that looked up at the detective then had a sort of concentrated perplexity about it that sad oddly on the young features.  "And the only one who seems to have even _*touched*_ the driver's seat was—"

"—was Yamashii Ne, the old woman," said Takagi softly; it had occurred to him too.  He remembered seeing her leaning heavily against the seat-back while her brother dug out the fare from his wallet and arranged the walker in front of her.  "Any other possible suspects?"  He grimaced, thinking hard; his eyes followed the details on the crayon drawings before him and he absentmindedly traced his finger along the paper path that the passengers would have taken…..

The boy beside him snorted quietly, scooting up to sit on the edge of his chair; his short legs dangled as he rested his chin on his arms.  "Not really.  We need a motive, though."  Conan yawned, picking up a dark blue crayon and beginning to doodle aimlessly on the edges of his diagram.  "Why would a sixty-eight-year-old woman want to kill a bus driver she has no apparent connections with, other than taking his bus occasionally?"  A meandering blue line began climbing down the side of the page, occasionally interspersed with squiggles.  "The usual motives—revenge, money, that sort of thing—they should apply to this murder as well as they do to any other."  The blue point of the crayon added a rather fuzzy drawing of a bee to the doodles, and Takagi felt one of his eyebrows creeping up; sometimes you really *did* have to wonder about Kudo.  

The fact that he had conscientiously drawn in a body outline with a white crayon where the driver had fallen didn't really help, either.

"Welll," he offered, yanking his thoughts back to the business of crime-solving and thinking aloud, "you were right about the Yamashiis being triplets—or at least about them having a sister.  Looks like they lost one to suicide less than a year ago—" and he spent a few minutes relating Mufune's little story.

"If the person who hit her had been a man, I would have thought of the driver right away… but Mufune definitely said it was a woman."  Takagi finished up, watching the blue crayon as it jotted down the details of the Yamashii sister's death.  "The bit about the suicide note bothers me—I mean, first off it was in the handle of a walker, which isn't exactly a common place for mail."  He shivered a little; "Wonder if it's the same one she uses now?"

"Who gave the note to the police?"

"Hmm?"  The detective blinked.  "The woman who hit her, I guess—who else?"

Conan scowled up at him, twisting the blue crayon between impatient fingers; it crumbled, scattering several bits onto the paper.  "Do you _*know*_ that for certain?  It makes a difference—"

"It does?  How?"

The boy's eyes hardened as he stared up at Takagi.  "Think about it.  If she _IS the killer, then it matters whether she killed for revenge for her sister's death… or for revenge for not getting the insurance money.  If it was for her death, then she would've gone after the woman who hit her, wouldn't she?"  Takagi stared back as, slowly, the facts of the case began to pull together in his mind into an ugly pattern.  "But if she was after revenge for the money, then she'd go after _whoever gave the note to the police,_ wouldn't she?"_

Silence.

"People commit murder for reasons that seem logical and right to them at the time," said Conan softly; he placed the broken crayon carefully on the table and tapped the body-outline he had drawn with one finger.  "Sometimes they kill for love, sometimes for revenge, sometimes out of impulse; but when they kill for money, they always plan it out before committing the actual act."  He raised his head, looking out across the room as light flashed across the lenses of his glasses.  "That usually makes it a little simpler, in a way— they try too hard to cover things up and they get clumsy."

Takagi nodded, leaning back in his chair a little and stretching.  "Yeah, I know.  So now we need to find the thing that'll trip them up."  He hesitated, eyeing the boy.  "You think the bus driver found the note, don't you?  Why should he have been on the scene?"

Conan picked up another crayon, a dark red one this time, as dark as blood; he considered it for a moment and then dropped it, shaking his head.  "Think about it, Takagi— the Yamashiis' sister was struck by an automobile, wasn't she?  What _kind of vehicle was it?  A car? Or maybe a—"_

"Actually, it was a bus."

Both Conan and Takagi jumped as if they had been shot; each had been so involved in what they were saying that neither had noticed the arrival of Detective Mufune, who had quietly walked up to the table as they were talking.  The young man peered down at the diagram lying so openly on the table, while the other two sat frozen in dismay.  "Jeeze…..  Kid, did *you* do this??"

Takagi's mind went blank; all he could think of was _*CrapCrapCrap…*_

"Ummmm….. just the bus-drawing," stuttered Conan, his pulse beating visibly in his throat.  "Takagi-niisan wrote all the notes and stuff—"

"Yeah, well, I sort of figured that," said Mufune with a chuckle.  He surveyed the two with some surprise.  "Hey, settle down—didn't mean to make you jump!"  He nodded to Takagi.  "Are you teaching the kid the ropes?  Kinda early, but I guess it's never too soon to learn to be a good cop…" and the young detective laughed at his own joke.

Takagi and Conan glanced at each other, both letting out the purely mental equivalent of a relieved sigh.  _*Thank God for people who don't really see what they're seeing… even cops.  Now I understand a little more about how Kudo kept hidden.*  "Right, right—the kid's interested, and, uh, y'know how it helps to talk things out…"  The older detective did his best to stick a convincing expression on his face, wondering if he looked completely like an idiot or just *felt* like one.  Apparently his act was successful; his younger coworker just shook his head, grinning down indulgently at the boy.  _

Conan beamed back innocently, one foot kicking Takagi sharply in the ankle.  "Mufune-keiji?  Did you say something about a bus?"  Beside him his rather damp companion opened his mouth again, receiving yet _*another*_ kick; he subsided, thinking surly thoughts.

Mufune nodded, sitting down at an empty chair.  "Yeah.  The Yamashii woman—she was hit by a trainee bus-driver, her name was… Yoshida something.  Li?  _Lian_,_ that was it; sort of a pretty name—Chinese, I think."  (Below his eye-level Conan blinked, suddenly alert; the detective did not notice, but Takagi did and wondered what had slipped past him.  Something about the woman's name?)  "Poor thing had only been on the job for two weeks and *that* had to happen…..  She'd just gotten married too."  The rookie detective leaned back a little, eyes distant; he yawned.  "When me and my partner got the call we were only a couple of blocks away, just finishing lunch; so we got here pretty damn—uh, pretty quick."  He shot an embarrassed 'Ooops,-I-cussed-in-front-of-a-minor' glance at Conan, who remained oblivious.  With a shrug, Mufune continued._

"It was quite a mess; according to witnesses, the old woman just hobbled out between two parked cars about ten meters before the bus-stop right into the path of the bus.  No scream, no nothing; she just stepped out and…..  Yeah, well.  Anyway, by the time I got here the Yoshida woman was hysterical and her trainer was trying to calm things down; he had Shiburi-san sitting on the curb, had a couple of women from the sidewalk with her, and was directing traffic around the mess as neat as you please—kept his head pretty well under the circumstances, but he'd been driving for quite a while from what he said."

Takagi exchanged a glance with Conan as the boy opened his mouth, gently kicking HIS ankle; the boy blinked, then nodded imperceptibly.  Sometimes it was just better to let a witness tell their story without the distraction of questions.

Mufune went on…..  "So we radioed in for an ambulance and checked things out; the old woman was dead, no doubt about *that*-- you know, I never realized that head-trauma bled that much.  Then the trainer guy came up dragging the walker; it had been tossed clear, only got a few dents and all—and the handle came off right in his hand.  This little bit of paper dropped out, he picked it up and opened it and—"

The young man shook his head, bushy brows meeting over his nose.  "You don't think about old people committing suicide; I mean, not OLD people.  Stupid young kids breaking up with their boy or girlfriends, idiots on drugs or too boozed up to see, maybe an executive with a failing business—yeah, those.  Granted, I haven't been a detective for very long, but…..  Anyway, it was really sad.  The Yamashii woman was in failing health—diabetes, and she'd just been diagnosed with some sort of cancer; so she decided to die and pass the insurance money along to her brother and sister."  He sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose, eyes tired.  "It didn't work out quite that way, though…  I mean, it was *suicide,* right?  So when the brother and sister showed up later and we told 'em about the note—"

"What did you say?" said Conan sharply, and Mufune's head jerked up; Takagi mentally cursed.  The little idiot had forgotten to sound like a kid!  _*Baka…*_

"You said you told them about the note—just exactly what DID you tell them?" he said hurriedly, drawing Mufune's attention back to him and away from the shorter end of the audience.  Beside him, Conan slumped down a little but kept his eyes fixed on the other detective.

Mufune hesitated, then suddenly brightened, slapping one hand against the pocket of his coat.  "Hang on—yeah, I _*thought* I still had my old book in here—"  He rummaged around for a second, then pulled out a slightly dog-eared occurance book.  "This one's the old one, but I think the notes are right at the beginning…..  Yeah, here we are—"  Takagi edged over a little to read the somewhat sloppy script; he was dimly aware of a small, dark head ducking under his arm and leaning in to see….._

The other detective had, in his own words_, 'informed victim's siblings (Yamashii Tora and Yamashii Ne, home # 03-2472-8862)) of suicide note, found and given to self and partner by Shen Wen Li, witness and employee of City Metro Buslines (work # 03-4400-4690).  Note was tagged and bagged as evidence; siblings protested validity of note and tried to disallow its use during investigation due to contents (suicidal ideation).'_  

There it was, right in front of them in black and white.  The connection they needed.

Silence again; Mufune broke it as the other shoe suddenly dropped.  "Uh—you mean you *didn't know* your murder victim was…?"  He stared at Takagi, his brow furrowed in confusion. 

Takagi stared right back, feeling a wash of frustration fraying at his already-strained temper.  "Why didn't you TELL us, Mufune?"

The other detective blinked.  "I thought you already knew.  Why else were you asking… all those… questions…..?  Oh."  He scratched at the back of his neck.  "…Maybe it's just a coincidence?"

Takagi just shook his head; the boy next to him let out a pent-up breath and slid back into his seat.  "Coincidence is a funny thing, you know, Mufune-san?" he said softly.  "Sometimes it's real—and sometimes it has _help__."  He glanced up across the room towards the Yamashiis, his eyes hard.  "And this time….. this time I think it had a *lot* of help."  He slowly pushed his chair back and stood up, even as Conan silently did the same.  "I think that you, me and the Yamashiis need to have a little talk about revenge, don't you?"_

Mufune nodded, his own face growing a little grimmer.  "Right—" and he started to get up.  A tap on his shoulder stopped him, and he looked back at Takagi.  "What?"

"Mufune?  Would you mind checking one more thing for me?  Call down to Records at the stationhouse and look into University-related thefts over the last few months—"

***********************************************

"There you go, Sato-san, Ran-chan—"  Momo-san gave them each a pat on their shoulderblades with a beefy hand as he ushered them into the cab.  "Yamoto-san here'll take care of you just fine, won't you?"  He beamed at the rather bug-eyed cabbie, who seemed struck speechless by the combination of Momo-san (whom he seemed to know; Momo-san seemed to know an awful lot of people) and two apparent Ladies Of The Evening.

The owner of the _Blue Oyster  had_ called the taxi, assuring his two guests that he 'knew JUST the person to help' when Sato related the pathetic plight of their vehicular misfortunes.  A little earlier the young woman had been hunting through her purse for a handy pack of aspirin when she had come to a sudden and dreadful conclusion…..

* * * * *

_"Errr… Ran?"  _

_Sato's voice sounded rather tentative; Mouri Ran looked up from where she was washing up the tea-mugs at the tiny sink.  "Yes?"_

_"Do you remember… back at the cemetery…..  When I took my carkeys out of my purse, I didn't DROP anything, did I?"_

_Ran concentrated, rinsing the last mug.  That seemed more like something that had happened a week ago rather than less than a day past…..  "I--- don't recall anything specifi—wait.  There WAS something at one point… a sort of jingling noise, when you shut the cardoor?  I THINK I remember….."  She wiped a damp strand of hair out of her eyes, nose wrinkling at the strong scent of oyster sauce that still lingered.  "Why?"_

_Sato groaned.  "I think I dropped my apartment keys there."  Sinking back gloomily into her chair, she buried her face in her arms on the table.  "Is this night NEVER going to be over?  All I want is my own bed…. Well, a shower first and *then* my own bed….."_

* * * * *

…and so they were heading back (of all places) to the cemetery.

As the taxi door closed, Momo-san leaned his large, bewigged head down and filled up the open window.  "You two get some rest, okay?"  The white-smeared face chuckled in what might have been almost a paternal—or maternal—manner, if circumstances had been different.  "But don't rest _*too* long—you both got issues to take up with your young men, and the longer you wait the harder it'll be.  _TALK _to them; you really need to, both of you…..  Trust Momo-san on this, okay?"  He grinned toothily in their faces, which blushed.  They nodded mutely._

From the front seat of the car a small voice could be heard muttering as the door slammed _"….. issues…..?"_

As the taxi pulled away from the curb, the large crossdressing bar-owner executed a flamboyant wave and bow, yelling out so loudly that the entire neighborhood echoed:  "DON'T FORGET TO STOP BY AGAAAAIN, YOU TWO!!!  SATO-SAN, YOU'LL ALWAYS BE MY FAVORITE!!!  AND _TAKE CARE OF THOSE TATTOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOS!!!"_  His booming laughter followed them down the street, setting dogs barking and lights coming on here and there in the predawn darkness.

The two young women huddled back against the seat; Ran wondered if it was possible to spontaneously combust from embarrassment, then yawned and firmly chose not to think about it anymore.  Beside her Sato privately thanked the gods that nobody else that she knew had been nearby; if they had, she would have ended up arresting herself for murder.

Well, at least she would always have a spare pair of handcuffs on her now…..

Detective Sato Miwako sighed once, shrugged her tired shoulders, and decided that she simply did not give a damn.

The cabbie seemed to be a bit irritable for some reason; he kept glancing behind him at his passengers, nose visibly twitching.  He seemed about to say something, but at a steely glance from the detective he just shrugged and rolled the window down, occasionally muttering under his breath.

Bits of this drifted back to the two in the back seat…..

"…..jeeze, you think you KNOW a guy…..  Momo-san and a coupla hookers?  And she's his *favorite*??............ ten years I been pickin' up fares at his bar, and…….."

He glanced back the seat at Sato and Ran again; Sato glared back, while Ran let out a small snore as she drowsed.

"…….never saw Momo-san look twice at a woman before and now there's _TWO_ of 'em…….... man, there's gonna be some disappointed guys in this town if THAT sorta thing keeps happening………."

Sato opened her mouth to retort, thought long thoughts about being left on the side of the road by an angry cabdriver, and prudently decided to take a nap.

***********************************************

Things seemed to have settled down a little among the passengers as Takagi and Conan quietly wandered over to take their places at an empty table in the middle of the room.  The elderly couple were leaning against each other in a booth, nodding; the clerk and the young teenager with the CD player were both blatantly asleep, a thin whine of music escaping from her slightly askew headphones like the auditory version of a mosquito.  The poker game between the dockworkers seemed to be well underway—no, actually it looked like they had switched to Blackjack now—and the woman with the baby was quietly reading a paperback novel from her purse while her child slept peacefully in her lap.

Everybody was waiting, waiting to be released to go home; most people tended to cooperate with the police in matters as serious as a murder, no matter how disgruntled they might get about the disruption of their private schedules.  So they all sat, waiting…..

…..but there was a dead man being wheeled into a hospital morgue somewhere about now that was waiting too—waiting for his murderer to be revealed.

The Yamashiis sat beside the elderly couple, occasionally exchanging a low-voiced comment or two.  Yamashii Ne looked as stony-faced as before, though Takagi noticed that she seemed a little grey; her brother seemed to have developed a twitch in one eyebrow, and his eyes meeting the detective's quickly glanced away and down, his hands rubbing each other nervously.

_His hands.___

Takagi stared for a second, then nodded to himself.  Gently he angled one elbow out to brush against the small figure beside him… who was, he realized, already staring at the old man's hands.  The detective could almost _see_ the moment when two facts *clicked* together in the transformed young man's brain—there was that second of hesitation, that moment when the dark blue eyes widened and froze in realization….. and decision.

Conan slid down from his seat; he wandered, seemingly at random towards the elderly siblings—and then paused, a look of concern coming to the small face beneath the smeared glasses.  "Jiisan?"

The old man blinked down at the small boy; he shifted uneasily at the bright gaze.  "What, boy?"

"Why are your hands so red?  Did you hurt them?"  They _were red, blotched here and there with swellings both old and new against the blue-veined skin; Yamashii Tora looked down at them as if they belonged to somebody else, the fingers still working at one another.  _

He seemed at a loss to answer, so Takagi spoke up quietly.  "Apitherapy, isn't it?  I've heard about that….. it's supposed to be good for arthritis."  Unwillingly the man's chin jerked downwards in a nod, his rather watery eyes sliding away from the detective's face in a quick movement back down to his hand.  "Why don't you tell the kid about it?  It's kind of interesting… they're studying that out at the University you work at right now, aren't they?"  He smiled disarmingly at the older man, who glanced a little sideways at his sister as if asking for help.

She simply stared straight ahead as she had been doing for some time now, hard-faced.  No help there.

"It… mhah, it's, uhh….."  He trailed off, looking back down—straight into Conan's brilliant stare.  It was enough to make an innocent man flinch, that stare; Yamashii jerked back a little, shifting gears visibly.  "It's, uh, it's… bee-sting therapy; makes my joints feel better.  University… mhm, yes."  His voice was jerky, wavering like that of a much older man's; nervously his grip twisted and tightened, fingers scrubbing at fingers like Lady Macbeth washing her hands in her sleep to get the blood off…..

Beside him his sister sat silent and unmoving.  Her hands lay in her lap, quite still.

Conan-kun looked concerned; he reached out gingerly and brushed one fingertip against a reddened mark.  "Doesn't it hurt?  Do you have to let lots of bees sting you?  If you did, you could get killed…..  The bus-driver, _*he* got killed by a bee, didn't he?"  The boy shivered, moving past the man's knees to hop up confidingly into the space between the two siblings, settling back comfortably.  The old man looked startled; apparently he wasn't much used to kids.  "Do you need my niisan to call you a doctor?"_

"No, no—I'm fine."  Yamashii Tora tried to produce a smile; it wasn't a very good one.  "It… it only hurts a little at first, and then later on you feel better."  That seemed to have exhausted his conversational skills, so Takagi decided to prod him a little.

"Are you receiving treatments at the University?" he asked, pushing his hair out of his eyes and continuing to smile.  "I understand the program's been receiving quite a bit of press lately—"  He glanced over at Mufune, who leaned against the doorjamb and nodded back meaningfully as he slipped his cellphone into his pocket.  "Mufune-keiji, what was it you were telling me about it the other day?"

"It wasn't about the program, actually….. just something I heard about at the stationhouse."  The other man frowned, seemingly trying to recall some detail to mind; he crossed his arms and slumped back, bushy brows drawn down in concentration.  "Now what was it…?"

Conan was being something of a pest.  He blinked up at the elderly man, his own small face creased in worry.  "Are you SURE you don't need a doctor?  My niisan can call one for you—the bus driver died 'cause he got stung and I don't want you to die _too…_   If I get stung by a bee will I have to go to the doctor??"  Small hands pushed up the man's shirt and jacket cuff as his swellings were peered at and examined; the man tried to draw back, but the child was insistant.  "Are you _SURE?!?_  My niisan can—"

"Shut up," snapped the woman on his other side abruptly, her stone face cracking briefly.  Her brother jerked as if stung by a whip and Conan spooked like a small colt, letting go and sliding quickly down from the seat to take refuge beside Takagi, eyes wide.  

The detective frowned a little at Yamashii Ne.  "He was just curious and a little worried—give the poor kid a break, will you?"  He glanced down as protectively as possible at the small brown head that peeked out from behind his elbow.  "I mean, how would *he* know that you weren't in any danger--- you aren't, are you?"

The elderly man shook his head.  "No—I'm not allergic like the driver was—"  Tora-san's own eyes widened as his sister hissed softly.  "I—uh—"

"…now, how would you know that, I wonder?" asked Takagi mildly.  "I don't recall mentioning it during any of the questioning….."  Inside his mind he quietly ticked off a chalk-mark on a mental notepad:  _*Knew about the driver's allergy, check.*_

Yamashii Tora's mouth opened and closed, gaping like a landed fish's.  "He—well, he _*died*_ from it, didn't he?  He HAD to be allergic—"

"Of course," smiled Takagi disarmingly.  "That'd be it.  Conan-kun?  It's okay—I'm sure Yamashii-san here didn't mean anything by it, we're all a little tired and we'd like to go home.  Isn't that right, ma'am?"  This last comment was aimed at the old woman, who scarcely spared him a glance.  No response there.

Gingerly the boy stepped out from around his 'niisan' and approached the two siblings again; he looked up into the woman's face.  "I'm sorry, obaasan—I was just…..  Here!  I know….." and he began rummaging around in his pockets, pulling out a half-wrapped chocolate bar that was somewhat the worse for wear (one of the dockworkers had given it to him earlier).  "Would you like a piece of chocolate, obaasan?  As an apology?  I'm sorry it smells like fish, but it still tastes good."  The dark blue eyes flickered with something sharp and edged for a second before filling with entreaty.  "My mom'll be mad if I don't apologize….."

Yamashii Ne's dry-looking face seemed to draw up in distaste.  "I don't eat chocolate, little boy.  I'm diabetic," she answered shortly.  Takagi quietly ticked off another chalk-mark in his mental list: _*Diabetic.  Check.*_

Conan looked crestfallen; shoving his glasses back up his nose from where they had slid down (and incidentally leaving a black streak there among the other smudges) he seemed to crumple a little, then squared his shoulders.  "Okay….."  He brightened.  "Never mind—I know what I can do—" and he bounced away to rummage among the crayons and paper that he had left on the table at the other end of the room, returning a moment later to sprawl cross-legged on the floor by Takagi's feet, scribbling furiously.

Takagi smiled apologetically over his head at the room in general, dropping one hand down to rest on the boy's shoulder.  "Don't mind Conan-kun, please… he can be a little energetic sometimes, but he means well."  A near-inaudible snort from beneath the table made his mouth twitch.  "He just gets a bit… _nosy at times."_

The three gaijin tourist-girls (the taller one of which had joined the dockworkers in their card-game) smiled back, and the one with the sketchbook eyed the boy at his feet appraisingly; out came a pencil and she began once more to draw.

The Yamashiis, on the other hand, made no response.  After a moment of silence Takagi turned back to Mufune, who still lounged against the doorjamb.  "Now what was that you were telling me about the University?  Something about bees?"

The junior of the two detectives smacked one hand against his forehead.  "Oh, right!  Yeah, I remember….. there was a report about a theft from the labs—someone stole some vials of bee-venom.  Weird, huh?  About a month or so ago…..  The funny thing about the stuff is that it's not worth much at all, it's just sort of hard to get hold of;"  he shrugged nonchalantly.  "I mean, can you imagine trying to milk a bee?  The learning process must be _awful." _

Takagi chuckled; then his face turned serious again.  "You work at the University, don't you, Yamashii-san?  Did you hear anything about that?"

The man stuttered for a moment like a broken CD; "I—uh, I—No, I—"

His sister brought him grinding to a halt, speaking sharply.  "I'm sure my brother has other things to do than spend his time gossiping about petty crimes."  She sniffed, crossing her arms tightly over her flat bosom.  "He's a hard worker; he has to be.  Times are difficult enough."

"Right you are, ma'am; money's short nowadays, isn't it?  It just doesn't stretch as far as it used to, does it?"  A short jerk of the woman's chin might have been a nod; Takagi chose to consider it so.  "It really seems sort of unfair, you know….."  He laughed a little.  "Sometimes it seems so hard to get ahead—nothing but bills, bills and more bills."  He scratched his head, doing his best 'harmless cop' routine.  "And some people seem to get by so _easily, while the rest of us have to scratch for every yen….."_

Now the narrow, dark little eyes in the old face were fixed on his.  "That's so," she muttered.  Then bitterness seemed to twist her mouth out of shape into a tight line.  "Things cost too much—everything costs too much.  Medical bills, insurance…..  Some people aren't worth their keep—"

Beside Yamashii Ne, her brother _twitched.  "Ushi—" he whispered.  _

He was ignored as if he had not spoken; the old woman went on.  "You spend your life taking care of people and you get *cheated,*"  she muttered, staring at Takagi; there seemed to be a lot of anger in the stare.  Then some of the stiffness seemed to run out of her bones and she leaned back against the bench, the faintest curve appearing on those thin, dry lips.  "Cheaters _pay,_ though….."

"Sometimes," he answered calmly, checking off a third mark on the clipboard in his mind:  _*'Cheated'… right.*  There was a tug at his pants-leg and the detective glanced down, then nodded.  Conan's tousled head appeared above the table-top as he stood up, clutching a drawing in his hand and dusting the seat of his pants (not that it did any good, all things considered).  "Yamashii-san?  I think Conan-kun has something for you—"_

The scruffy little boy approached the old woman with apparent trepidation.  "I drew a picture for you—it's from your names."  The onlookers in the room appeared puzzled, and Conan held the crayon-drawing up for everyone to see.  Three animals chased each other across the paper:  a rat, an ox and a tiger, the latter only recognizable because of its stripes.  "See?  That's you—" and the boy pointed at the mouse, "—'Ne', because your name means the Rat from the Year of the Rat.  And that's you, the Tiger from the Year of the Tiger."  He smiled up at them, a bright little-boy smile from a bright little boy.  "I think you have _*neat* names… we're learning about the animals of the Years in school, the Juu-Ni'ichi….." and he began to count them off on his fingers.  "First there's the Rat, then the Ox, then the Tiger, then the—"_

"Conan-kun?"  Takagi interrupted; "Why'd you draw an ox too?  There's only two of them—"

The little boy shook his head.  "Uh uh—  Takagi-niisan, you said they both had the same birthday, so that'd make them twins, right?  But the Ox comes in between the Mouse and the Tiger, so they had to be—what do you call three babies all born at one time?  Triplets, right?  If somebody was going to name their kids after the Year animals, why would they just name them after the first and the third?  So I knew there had to be three of you."  He nodded definitely, then looked away from the woman and back up to the old man.  "You said _'Ushi' a minute ago—is that your sister?"_

Yamashii Tora seemed frozen; his face was grey, but there seemed to be something building behind his eyes.

Conan tilted his head to one side a little, some of the sharpness behind the child's mask beginning to leak out into his tone as he gently laid the picture on the old man's lap.  "Here, you hold this…..  Jiisan?  _Where is your sister?"_

"Dead…" he whispered, his eyes haunted.  "She _died….. she….."_

The old woman beside him made a harsh noise in the back of her throat; it sounded oddly loud in the small café.  "Some people… aren't worth their keep."

"---she was _our **SISTER****,**_ Ne-chan!!" cried out her brother, his voice sounding broken as it cracked into a sob.  _"We took care of her!  When she got sick, she—"_

"And what would you know about taking care of her?" spat the old woman with sudden venom, rounding on him and making the onlookers draw back in shock (except for Conan and Takagi, who simply remained still, eyes fixed on her face).  "You just spent your days at the University—you never had to clean up after her, you never had to give her a bath or fix all her meals or take her to the doctor or give her her shots or--  You had it _easy, niichan!"  The angry old voice hissed, dry and poisoned as the fang of a snake.  "And then she went and _DIED_ and it was a good thing, too!!  And if she hadn't written the—"  Abruptly Yamashii Ne stopped, her eyes glittering as she became aware of her audience; her mouth snapped shut like a trap, and she glared at her brother._

"I'm sorry, Yamashii-san.  It's hard to lose a sister--  You must have felt terrible."  Takagi's voice was very soft in the silence that fell afterwards; the old man shook his head, not quite denying the words but not quite accepting them either.

"She—she wanted to die.  She _told us….." he whispered; one of the dockworkers opened his mouth in shock, but closed it at a warning glare from Mufune.   The old man's voice faded into a mumble, the words falling over each other; "She said… she was h-hurting and she didn't want—didn't want—to be a burden a-any more….."_

Takai was aware of the silence beside his elbow—a watchful, listening silence named Conan; he glanced down at the boy… and was glad that he was the only one watching.  There was no way in the world that the expression on the small face belonged on anybody that young—no way.  It shook him just a little, those sharp eyes and that intent look, and Takagi shivered slightly before he spoke.  "Is that why she committed suicide, then?  Because of an illness?"

The old man's lips trembled like an unhappy child's.  "Cancer….. pancreatic cancer.  She was diabetic first, though, and it crippled her.  Then the cancer came….. she could hardly walk by then, only for a little ways at a time.  That's why I didn't—didn't *believe* her when she… said that she was… g-going to… _really going to—"  He broke down at this point, hiding his face in his hands and shuddering.  __"Ushi."___

His sister eyed him with disdain, tight-lipped; her hands, moving at last, tightened on the sweater she held in her lap until the knuckles stood out bone-white against the age-blotched skin.  Takagi watched her now, wondering if she'd freeze up and refuse to say anything else.  It wasn't as if they didn't have probable cause at this point—they could get away with hauling the two Yamashii siblings down to the stationhouse for questioning, but he wanted to finish the whole sorry thing _now._

He'd sleep better.  And his mind would be a lot clearer when he talked to Sato-san later on—

_*Right.*  Takagi_ squared his mental shoulders and went for the kill.

"That's why things are so tight, isn't it?  That's why money's such a problem— since your sister died, you don't have any disability payments coming in anymore now, do you?" he asked Yamashii Ne, watching her carefully.  "When your sister was alive she must have had some sort of insurance to help with her living expenses and medical bills—"

_"Insurance!!"_ snarled the old woman, her fury breaking through her stony silence.  "Vultures!  As soon as she was dead they stopped paying, taking away what was *rightfully ours—*"  She paused for a split second to gasp for a breath, and Takagi noted with one corner of his mind that her face was becoming a hideous, blotchy red.  Her hands worked spastically in her lap, tearing at the wool of the sweater as if to shred it to bits.  "And then, when the life insurance company found out she had killed herself, they wouldn't pay what we were *entitled to* and it was all because HE—" and she pointed with one skinny finger towards the silent bus which still sat by the curb, lights blinking, "—gave them the note—"

--and then she _stopped,_ suddenly wary; the snarl of anger in her face shifted a bit, allowing caution to creep in.  But it was too late, much too late; her brother was raising his face from his hands now, staring…..

_"….. **THAT'S**_ why you wanted to kill him….." he whispered.  "You told me it was because he was her _*father*— but that wasn't it, you wanted to—"_

"SHUT UP!!" shrieked the old woman suddenly; one of the dockworkers dropped the deck of cards in shock.  But Yamashii Tora went on in an inexorable mumble:

"—you said it was for _revenge_, for **_REVENGE_—not for money, not because he gave them the note but because if the father died the daughter'd suffer, and she was the one who killed Ushi-chan—"**

One thin hand whipped out, striking him across the face and knocking him back with surprising strength; Yamashii Tora choked on his words, his face white.  He stared at her as if he had never seen her before, raising shaking fingers to his cheekbone and the red mark her hard palm had left as she screamed in his face.

_"Don't you understand, you stupid old fool?_  When he gave the police her suicide note he cut us off!!  If he hadn't, we'd be getting all the—"

_"YOU MADE US INTO **MURDERERS FOR ****MONEY**--!!  _God, Ne, how could you?  How _could you?"   Her brother was shaking by now, his lined face full of horror; Takagi looked back down at Conan again just as the boy spoke, his soft voice carrying with uncanny clarity in the room._

"She talked you into it, didn't she, Jiisan?  Your sister had some old supplies from her diabetic checkups—that collection lancet was years old, so it had to come from someone with a longstanding medical condition.  You stole the vial of venom from the University and one of you filled it, probably her.  Then you kept the driver distracted while she leaned on the seat and inserted the lancet so he'd get a full dose when he sat back down….."

The old, old eyes swiveled from his sister's face down to the small one that only came to waist-level; Yamashii Tora seemed incapable of speech, but he nodded dumbly.

Takagi dropped a cautioning hand on Conan's—Kudo's—shoulder; the faux gradeschooler glanced up at him, a shadow of understanding passing across his eyes as the detective took up where he had left off.  "You thought it was to revenge your sister's death, didn't you?  Not for _money, not something that paltry or small….. and she even wore Ushi's clothes and used her walker to startle and distract the driver, didn't she?  That must have made it seem almost right— almost like your sister had come back to punish the people who took her away from you."_

Silence; the old man's face was almost blank with shock as he stared at his sister.  She glared back, a hard and almost mad gleam in her bitter eyes, breaking the silence at last with a harsh crack of laughter.  "That's right.  That's *exactly* right.  He took away what we—what **_*I*_-- was entitled to by handing over that note.  If he hadn't, they'd have called her death an accident and we'd get all the money we DESERVE."  Her mouth worked as if she were chewing on something bitter, the red patches over her cheekbones livid against the raddled skin.  _"All those years taking care of her after she couldn't work, _all those_ __months after the cancer showed up and she didn't have the decency to die right away—she WANTED us to have it, she _****WANTED it!"  The woman drew a deep, ragged breath.  And instead, _instead, **instead we were** **_*CHEATED*—!!!"_**_**

**_"—!!!———!!!——"_**

The last word seemed to stick in her throat like the sharp end of a broken wishbone; Yamashii Ne choked _HARD_, her eyes bulging in her thin red-splotched face as her hands came up, clutching wildly at her chest and throat—she arched, half-standing as Takagi rose to his feet in alarm and Conan started forward, one small hand reaching out—

Too late, too late, _too late_; the old woman pitched over with a shuddering and broken gasp against her brother, clutching at him as she slid down into a heap and he cried out her name—

**_Too late._****__**

***********************************************

When the ambulance arrived a little later through the glittering, rain-flooded streets, the attendants said that it looked like Yamashii Ne's heart had given out on her.  Her brother wept brokenly as he told them and anyone that would listen that the doctors had warned her over and over not to get upset, not to get angry….. but that lately that was _all_ she had been doing.  Her chest and left arm had been hurting her for days, but she had refused to go in for an examination.

It would cost her too much, she had said.

*****************************************************************************************

TO BE CONCLUDED IN THE EPILOGUE…..

_Ysabet's__ Notes:  I posted the Epilogue too!  Go, go; what are you waiting for?  You can review after you read it.  Go on—shoo!_


	5. Epilogue: Convictions

**_Epilogue:  Convictions_******

_"You have the right to remain silent;_

_Anything you say or do can be held against you….."_

_                                                                                (The Miranda Rights)_

****

For the second time that evening (night? early morning? whatever), flashing lights danced in patterns across Conan's glasses from where he sat watching through the window.  He leaned against the back of the padded bench, kneeling with his chin resting on his folded arms.  It was funny how the rain softened things; the droplets running down the glass blurred the edges of everything outside—the squadcars, the uniformed figures here and there, the gurney with its still, still passenger being loaded into the back of the ambulance…..

_Yamashii__ Ne.  Too much anger had caught up with her, along with a bad heart.  It didn't seem fair somehow; she had been the instigator and the actual killer in this case, but instead of going to jail she had escaped justice with her death.  Her brother, on the other hand, was a shivering, broken figure weeping in the back of one of the squad cars, and would pay the price of an accomplice to murder.  _

Conan wondered privately if the old man would live very much longer, now that both his siblings had died.  He sighed, closing his eyes against the flashing lights and the muted commotion outside.

It was something that he had thought about before, something that seemed a lot more _visible now that he was seeing things from a child's eye view again: that the guilty got off far too often and that the innocent paid far too much.  Yamashii Tora was hardly an innocent; the man had acted in complicity regarding the driver's death, no doubt about that… but if his sister had not come up with the idea, it was unlikely that he would ever have even thought of taking any sort of twisted revenge for his dead sibling.   And the motive…..  He had been more horrified than anyone else about the real reason behind their revenge, and in his own way had been a victim too.  Yamashii Ne had a lot to pay for—but she was dead, as dead as the driver Shen Wen Li or her sister Ushi and far beyond mortal justice._

Sometime it was harder, being left behind, wasn't it?  Of course, if _*anybody*  knew_ about that, he would…..  In his prison behind Edogawa Conan's closed eyes, Kudo Shinichi wondered silently how Ran's night had been.

Outside the window the rain continued to fall, a soft hush of sound; it smoothed over the sound of vehicles pulling away, the voices on the sidewalk and the constant, scratchy mutter of a squadcar's radio.  If you listened close enough you might be able to make out individual words, but it had been a long night and the boy with his head down on his arms suddenly just didn't feel like making the effort.  The rain was soothing; beneath its susurrus he could almost let wakefulness slip away, could begin to drowse like the child he seemed to be…..

He could almost hear Ran's voice, calling him the way she did now when it was time to go to boring, boring school (not like before, not _*Shinichi* anymore… never now)—__'Conan?  Conan-kun?  Time to get up now, Conan-kun…..  Conan-kun?'  She never called him Shinichi now, of course, except when he spoke to her in his clandestine and all-too-infrequent phone calls; he missed hearing his real name a lot, far more than he had ever thought he would... missed hearing her voice saying it.  All he ever got to hear now was __'Conan-kun?'_

"Conan?  Hey, Conan-kun?  Wake up—"

_THAT_ wasn't Ran—

_*Oh.  Takagi… right.  Must've almost drifted off.  Big surprise there, it's what—past __midnight__ by a couple of hours now at least, I guess.  No real idea of the time.*  With a groan he allowed his own weight to pull him down, back onto the seat proper.  Takagi had just walked into the café; he closed the door behind him and looked down at the boy with concern in his eyes._

"You okay?  You look pretty bushed."  Takagi wasn't exactly model-material himself just then; droplets spattered down from the ends of his disheveled hair and the tip of his nose, and a previously-unnoticed smear of something black smudged the left side of his shirtcollar.  "Y'know, if I take you back to Ran-kun looking like you've just been dragged through a hedge backwards she'll use me for karate practice—"

Conan shrugged, pulling his glasses off and rubbing at his tired eyes.  "Better plan on running, then; we both look like hell."  He vainly tried to smooth his own hair, then gave it up as a lost cause.  "And when Sato sees _you looking like that--  Uh, speaking of which, don't we need a ride?  And what about your car?"_

Takagi swung himself down into a seat, squelching a little; drops began puddling on the tabletop as he yawned and leaned forward to rest his chin on his hands, looking rather worn.  "Never mind that—"  He glanced around, but everyone in earshot seemed busy with their own devices for the moment.  "I have a few questions for you while we've got the chance.  How'd you know the woman who hit Yamashii Ushi was the driver's daughter?  That's one I couldn't figure out—"

Conan took a look of his own around; it seemed safe enough.  The rest of their fellow passengers were busy gathering their things and finishing up cups of tea or coffee, discussing the night's climax in low tones here and there.  This would be one bus-ride they wouldn't forget soon… "That was a fluke, really; when we were up examining the driver's body I noticed a photograph on the dashboard—a wedding photo, the kind people have made in studios, you know?  It had her and her husband's name on it and she had written 'To my father, with love' on the bottom corner.  Once Mufune mentioned her name….."

Takagi nodded, his dark eyes appreciative.  "Right, I get it; you made the connection.  Okay, one or two more for you:  what about the diabetes?  I got the impression you knew about that—is that why you offered the sister chocolate?"

The boy smiled a little, a thin smile with no humor in it.  "Uh huh; I got a good look at her brother's hands before that, but she wasn't the sort to let a kid get too close to her so I had to find out some other way."  At the detective's blank look he elaborated, holding up his own grubby hands to the light.  "Fingernails.  You can tell a lot about a person's health, especially an older person, by their fingernails.  A diabetic's nails are frequently blotched light and dark; somebody with severe heart disease usually develops dark brown streaks and speckles after a few years as well….."  The young eyes grew a little somber; "If I *had* been able to see hers a bit closer, maybe I would have found some other way of drawing her out…  I never wanted her to die, Takagi—"

The older man shook his head wearily, leaning back and dropping his voice even further.  "Conan—Kudo--?  I wouldn't worry about it.  From what her brother said out there in the squadcar she had been warned repeatedly that her heart couldn't take _any_ stress at all.  Do you really think she would've made it to the stationhouse for questioning?  I doubt it.  And with her age and diabetes on top of it all….."  He sighed, rubbing at his eyes again.  "It's done, and I wouldn't spend time feeling bad about it; maybe in a way it was a mercy."  When he looked up, Takagi's eyes were a little distant.  "And more of a mercy than she deserved, really….. her brother's taking it pretty hard.  If I were a doctor, it'd be *him* I'd be worried about at this point."

Conan nodded silently; once more behind the little-boy mask Kudo Shinichi nodded as well, agreeing.

"So… now what?"

"Hmm?  'Now what' what?"  The transformed high school student glanced up at the older man, who seemed to be a bit hesitant; Takagi's somewhat boyish face was tired but his expression still showed curiosity.  "We solved the murder, we've got a ride back—what's left?"

The detective blinked.  "I was sort of wondering… well, now that I *know* about you and all that—are you going back to pretending to be a little kid around me?"  He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking like he was fighting back a headache.  "That'll be kind of hard to handle after tonight—"

His companion sighed and leaned forward, propping his own chin on his cupped hands; in that position he looked every inch the seven-year-old… until you saw his eyes.  "Takagi, I can't stop playing my part—I can't just quit being Edogawa Conan because I feel like it, not until it's safe—you remember what I told you?"  He dropped his voice even further, glancing around.  "If I get caught… I won't be the only one who pays."  One eyebrow quirked up as he faced the older man; "Come to think of it, now that you know _you're not exactly out of the line of fire….. so I'll just have to keep on being Conan-kun for a while longer, until… I don't know.  Until something changes, I guess."_

He sighed again, watching the play of apprehension and sympathy on the other man's face.  "I've managed this far; I can keep on with the charade until it's no longer necessary, one way or the other.  But Takagi?"

"Hm?"

"You know what to look for now; if you hear of anything suspicious, anything that looks like it might relate to… _them_… you'll—"

The other man cut him off.  "—I'll let you know right away."  He grinned a tired grin down at the boy.  "What do you think I am, an idiot?  Of *course* I'll let you know."

A small grin of his own crept onto Conan's face.  "Actually, I pretty much think you're *toast* at this point, once Ran-neechan sees me…..  Takagi?"  Now he seemed to be the one who was hesitating.  "What about—other cases?  Even without your knowing about me being—well, _ME_ and all that—I seemed to get involved in them around you on a pretty regular basis.  You do know you'll have to keep on acting the same as before, don't you?"

Takagi was grinning a little more widely now.  "Yeah, yeah, I know—but I can promise you I'll pay a lot more attention to what you say now than I did before… and if I have the chance, I'll ask your opinion."  He chuckled.  "A good detective shouldn't be wasted….. even if he can't pass the height requirements for being a cop just yet….. deal?"

Conan gave him a rather dirty look for the short joke, but nodded.  "Deal."  He sighed, tension going out of the small shoulders.  "That'll make my life that much easier—and Takagi?  Just for the record?  I'm glad it was you who found out and not, oh, Shiratori or somebody like that."  He yawned, sliding down in the seat until his chin was just above the tabletop.  At Takagi's questioning look, he added, "Oh, Shiratori-san's not a bad guy and all that—he's just… well, not quite as _flexible _as you are; I'm not really sure how he'd take the truth about me.  Not the most sympathetic guy in the world either…"

Across from him the older detective snorted, and the sound had a certain note of exasperation in it that made the boy's ears prick up.  "It's nice to hear somebody who doesn't think the man walks on water or something…" he muttered, eyes dropping.

"Really?"  Conan fought back a snicker; he wasn't exactly blind, so he had a pretty good idea where _that comment was coming from.  "Having girlfriend problems, Takagi?"  As the man opened his mouth indignantly to deny everything, the faux gradeschooler shook his head and waved a finger in front of his nose.  "Uh uh…..  Remember, I've been watching you two all this time and I'm NOT an innocent little boy.  You've got it really bad for Sato, don't you?  And Shiratori's your rival; any idiot could see that."_

At Takagi's rather frantic sputtering, Edogawa Conan shook his head again.  "Cool it; you're only trying to fool yourself.  Besides, what's the problem?  She's your partner, isn't she?  You've got plenty of opportunities to get the point across to her if you really want to—"

Detective Takagi Watari drew a deep breath, beginning a reply that might have been almost good enough to convince even the young man/little boy grinning at him… and then ground to a halt before the first word was out.  Who WAS he trying to fool, anyway?  Instead he sought refuge in moroseness.  "Fine, he muttered; "YOU try and get her to see you as something other than her partner.  I mean,  last night… right after we caught that bomber guy… there was a moment when I was pretty sure she—but—ah, hell; the Captain came in and sort of broke things up."  He heaved a sigh that sounded a lot more unhappy than he probably was aware of, wondering how they had gotten onto the subject of relationships.

"So?" said Conan practically, his dark blue eyes fixed on the downcast face opposite his.  "So you missed one chance; take the next one, why don't you?  Trust me, Takagi, you only get so many chances… if you miss one, be sure you don't miss the next; it may be all you'll ever have." 

 And for a moment—just for a moment—Takagi could swear that the boy slumped in the seat across from him was overshadowed by someone else, someone he had only met a couple of times before: once on a crowded transatlantic jet and once more in an equally-crowded high school auditorium, each time during a murder investigation.  Dark haired and with the same eyes, the same expression of pain that wouldn't quite allow itself to become despair; not yet, not while there was still hope, however thin..…

And then the moment passed, and the expression faded away as if it had never been there.  In its place was only the face of a little boy named Edogawa Conan, age seven, who turned and smiled brightly up at Detective Mufune as he came dripping in through the door.  A blast of damp, rain-ridden wind came in with him, blowing tousled bangs across eyes that caught Takagi's for a bare second and winked once before returning to the other man's face.  "You're awfully wet, Mufune-keiji; is it still raining?" he asked cheerfully in his Conan-voice.

The younger of the two representatives of Metro's Finest groaned.  "I don't think it's ever going to stop…..  Takagi-san?  The next time you get caught up in a murder investigation and need backup, can you pick a night with better weather?"  He shivered, wiping water from his face.  "Are you two ready to go?  I'm about dead on my feet."

Takagi made a face and stood up, trying to shake the previous moment off.  "Not quite—still got a couple of pieces of paperwork to do.  Can you give me fifteen minutes?"  Most of everything had been taken care of, but there were still the final crime-scene closure forms to fill out.  "Tell you what—you two keep busy and I'll try to finish things up, okay?"  He shot Conan a bright smile with only the barest hint of anything other than innocent friendliness in it;  "In the meantime, Conan-kun, why don't you tell Mufune-keiji here *all* about the great detective Kogoro Mouri?  Mufune, did you know that this is the kid Megure-san keeps talking about, the one the Sleeping Kogoro is training?"

Conan shot him a _*very*_ dirty look under the cover of straightening his glasses; Takagi merely grinned back.  _*Sorry 'bout that, Kudo, but it makes a good cover for you, doesn't it?  Now he won't wonder too much about some of the stuff you said—you're already KNOWN to be a lot brighter than most kids your age.  Megure talks about you quite a bit down at the stationhouse.*_

He turned to walk back through the roomful of passengers, his mind on something other than paperwork.  _*And… thanks for the advice, too.  You know what, Kudo?  I think… I just might take it.*  Takagi smiled to himself, thinking of a pair of beautiful dark eyes that looked just as good sighting down the barrel of a gun as they did looking up at his in the prelude to a kiss._

_*Yeah; yeah, I really think I might.*_

***********************************************

It was (as has been stated before) a dark and rainy night.  Detective Sato Miwako and Mouri Ran were both deep in exhausted slumber in the back of their taxi when a large _**baWHUMP!!bump!** and a pungent exclamation from their driver brought them to abrupt wakefulness.  _*Rrrgh?*_ thought Sato, flailing sideways into Ran, who let out a sleepy yelp.  "W-what's wrong?"_

_"@#%&!!  %$&@!!!"_

Cursing from the front seat made the situation fairly clear after a moment or two of slumber-fogged translation; and somehow Sato was not really surprised to find that they had, of course, _blown a tire._

_AGAIN._

The very idea made the hangover throbbing in her temples worse than before; that was no less than three in under twenty-four hours.  Sato figured that at this point the gods owed her a flat-tire-free existence for the rest of her life.  "Do you have a spare?"

"@##%$#!!"

She wasn't quite sure, but that seemed to indicate a negative answer.  It was hard to see out the rain-streaked windows, but—wasn't that the service station a little ways up the road?  "Can you make it to the cemetery?  It's just a little further—if you stop along here you'll get caught in the mud, we're getting into farmland out here---"

By now Ran-kun was awake, rubbing sleepily at her eyes and grimacing against her _own hangover.  The driver's next response made her blink, but as they limped down the side of the road comprehension slowly dawned__.  "Another flat tire?  Sato-kun, that's— that's just—"_

Her companion sighed.  "I know, I know; _Somebody__ has it in for us tonight."  She glanced at the heavens outside the window; they rumbled back with freshening thunder.  "Know any good prayers?"_

Ran chuckled despite her headache.  "Um… well, I think they'd kind of clash with what the cabbie's saying…..  Are we almost there?"

"Just about.  S'cuse me, sir?"  Sato reached forward to tap the steadily-cursing taxidriver on one shoulder.  "Look, if you swing around behind the cemetery instead of in front there's a more solid road—the one we took in earlier looked like it had a lot of pot-holes in it."

"@#%%!!!"

"You're welcome."  She sighed, rubbing at her straggling hair and wishing she had taken more aspirin; Sato wanted a shower so badly she could taste it.  She squinted at her wristwatch, which smelled quite strongly of rain and hot-sauce and seemed to have stopped.  "Ran-kun?  What time do you have?"

The young woman peered through the darkness.  "It looks like… 3:14 a.m." Wet gravel churned beneath uneven wheels as they bumped their way up the cemetery's back road, pulling to a squelching halt beside the rear gate.  "Now what?  Should we start looking for your keys?"

The driver turned off the ignition with a last muttered curse and turned to face her.  "Well, I dunno about _you_ two ladies, but me?  I'm takin' a nap.  When it gets light I'll call one'a the other drivers out with a spare, but 'til then there ain't nothin' much to do but take it easy."  At the slight look of trepidation on the younger of his two passengers' face, he grinned sardonically and shook his head.  "And you two don't have a thing to worry 'bout around me—Momo-san's been trusting me to drive home his customers for _*years.*  And, well…."  He gave them a somewhat hurt look.  "Let's just say that if Momo-san's tastes have changed, well, I'll be one of the guys that are disappointed the most….."_

Sato blinked.  _*Oh.*  She shuffled around in her purse for a few seconds, pulling out a rather damp wallet.  "Well, I can lay those fears to rest, anyway—we're not, ahh, quite what you think we are."  With a flourish she flipped her wallet open, displaying her badge.  "See?  And as far as I know, Momo-san's still… Momo-san."  Beside her there was a faint "Oh!" as Ran belatedly caught up with the conversation, turning a little red in the process._

The cabbie broke out in a rather stubbly smile (he could do with a shave) at that news.  "Really?  GREAT!!"  With a beaming grin that Sato would hardly have believe possible given his vocabulary a few moments earlier, he tilted his head a little to one side; an earring flashed in the dim light.  "I don't suppose he said anything about what he's doing next Tuesday, did he?"

"Uhhh…. No…. no, sorry….."

"@#$!!  Oh well….."  The taxidriver gave a sigh, then turned back around and slumped down in his seat in a more comfortable position.  "Glad to know some things just don't change, with any luck.  You ladies try'n get some rest, okay?  The sun'll be up in a couple of hours and I don't think this rain'll hold past morning."

Sato looked at Ran; Ran looked at Sato.  Both shrugged; it sounded like a good idea to them—and Sato's house-keys weren't going anywhere.  They could look for them after sunrise a lot better than they could stumbling around among the markers in the dark….. and besides, their heads still ached…..

Fifteen minutes later three sets of snores were making the droplets running down the windshield vibrate with their intensity.

***********************************************

_*Two more paragraphs on this one, check off a couple of items on the next, then sign and check off the closing docs….. man, seems like the guys down in Data Management come up with a new form every week.  What's next, we have to make a photo-documentary every time we close a crime scene?*  Takagi_ initialed what seemed like the thousandth in a series of check-boxes and sat back with a sigh, glancing around the room.  Already several of the passengers had left, picked up by their families or friends; once the weather had let up enough to allow communications to resume, the cell-phones in the room had suddenly seen hard usage.

Well, that was okay; _*they*_ could go home, _*their* excitement for the night was over with.  With a mental groan he put pen back to his paperwork.  __*They* didn't have to fill out a damned six-page probable-cause form in triplicate—_

"Excuse me--?"  Takagi looked up from his paperwork.  _*Oh man, NOW what?*  The three gaijin tourist girls stood there looking a bit ill-at-ease—that is, all but the one who had addressed him.  It was the calmer of the three, the one who had been looking so dubious (not, he noted thankfully, the one who had made the enthusiastic blam-blam-blam noises several hours before on the bus)._

"Uh, yes?  Can I help you, miss—"  He consulted Conan's drawing with one quick glance, then blinked; those gaijin names…...  "—um, Miss?"

"We can go now, right?  I mean, we don't have to stay around any longer—?"  Her Japanese was remarkably good; behind her the other two looked hopeful, and the one with the sketchpad settled her backpack a little more comfortably between her shoulders.

Takagi nodded.  "There should be another bus along any minute now….."  Apparently the main Metro bus station had been all-too-eager to make their passengers as happy as possible (at least the ones who had been proven not to be murderers) and as soon as the weather had allowed they had sent out a replacement vehicle.

The first young woman looked pleased, if more than a little tired.  Pushing a straggling thread of hair out of her eyes, she cocked her head to one side.  "Officer?  We--- ahh, well, we're here on vacation….. and we were wondering…..  We really wanted to see as much of Japan while we were here as possible, and some of our friends told us we just HAVE to try and…. um……  Well, do you know if there are any old ruined temples in the hills around Tokyo?"

_*Ruined temples?*  "_Uh…….. no, I'm afraid I don't—"

"There's the old Shunokeru temple, the one up by that flooded quarry, but it's been abandoned for the last fifty years at least," piped up a helpful voice by Takagi's elbow; he glanced down to see Conan's rather scruffy head beside him; apparently he had somehow managed to slip through Mufune's clutches (an impressive feat, since the younger detective was a confirmed Sleeping Kogoro fan).  "Ever since all those priests died mysteriously, nobody's wanted to live out by it—"

The young woman looked nervous.  "Abandoned?"

"Right.  It's supposed to be haunted."

"…haunted?"

"Uh huh."  The boy grinned a little.  "By youkai and akuma and bakemono and…"

Now the young woman was looking distinctly worried; she glanced behind her at her two companions, one of whom looked like she was about to explode and the other who seemed to be considering running for her life.  "Bakemono?  Akuma?  Youkai?"

Conan was enjoying himself.  That grin of his widened, reminding the officer beside him that this was actually a teenager; teenaged boys *loved* to tease, didn't they?  "Right.  All the locals say not to go there, especially on a full moon….." 

It occurred then to Takagi that there'd be a full moon sometime during the following week.  He shot a warning glance at Conan, who ignored it utterly.

"Full moon?"  That was the one with the sketchpad; her eyes widened a little more and then took on a calculating look.  "I wonder if I could do some sketches and then…..  maybe a manga series or….. watercolors?  Or I could put the details in with colored pencils and ink them the next day—"  Her Japanese seemed to be pretty good too, considering that she was talking to herself for the most part.

The first teenager's shoulders slumped in defeat.  She looked back at Conan with a certain amount of pleading in her eyes.  "I don't suppose there's a big fence around the place is there?  An electric one, or armed guards maybe?  Or… do the local police arrest any trespassers before they can get too far in?"  The last vestiges of hope seemed to be fighting a losing war with resignation on her face, while behind her the other two got into an enthusiastically muttered conversation that seemed to contain the words "oekaki board" and "doujinshi."  The first young woman winced, her eyes still fixed on the boy.  "Is there?  Do they?"

"Well, no…..  I mean, it's got a pretty good road and all— my neechan Ran and her dad and I were going to go look at it a few weeks ago, but we had car trouble and had to go back."  The boy looked up at her innocently.  "Why do you want to visit a mysterious ruined temple in the hills above Tokyo, anyway?"

She sighed.  "We're anime fans."  She seemed to consider that explanation enough.  

The two other young women nodded cheerfully and the one with the sketchbook added with emphasis "—AND manga fans."

Takagi frowned to himself; maybe he was missing something here, but…  "Uh, Conan-kun?  This doesn't really sound like a good place to wander around at—I mean, mysterious legends, completely abandoned, a bad reputation with the locals…..  Shouldn't they stay away?"

The boy shrugged, his eyes wide and blue.  "Um….. maybe.  I heard that the _*last* bunch of tourists that went up there during the full moon disappeared and were never seen again—"_

The first young woman closed her own eyes in defeat.  "Oh, _wonderful;_ that's all we needed to hear.  I *wish* you hadn't said that."

Behind her the other two looked at each other; the more genki one (the one who had made all the gun-noises) punched the air in triumph, chortling_.  "YES!!!"_  She bounced out of the café, her two friends trailing reluctantly behind her; Conan waved a cheerful farewell to them as the door slammed shut, snickering just a little.

Takagi shrugged and turned back to his paperwork, shaking his head.  Tourists…..

_*Let's see…. Where was I?  Oh yeah--  more paragraphs__, then the check-boxes on Form 6-17, then the closing doc signatures…..*_

* * * * * * * * *

Before Detective Mufune would allow either of his passengers to climb in his squad car he sniffed, pointed at their rather encrusted shoes and politely requested that they remove them…. and place them in bags.  _Sealed bags.  In the trunk.  When they protested, he snickered hard, ignored their wounded looks (not to mention Takagi's seniority as an officer) and suggested that if they didn't like his policy of _not-driving-with-cow-manure-in-his-squadcar_ they could always wait for another bus.  There was sure to be one along any minute—_

At that they agreed to his demands and, locking their smelly shoes in the trunk, climbed aboard and promptly fell sound asleep.  Remarkably, the trip to the cemetery was accomplished without incident.

Stranger things _have_ happened…..

* * * * * * * * *

"Well, I'm off— See you at the stationhouse tomorrow… uh, well, _today really, I guess….."  Mufune-san released the brake on his vehicle; the tires took a moment to pull free of soggy gravel and mud, spinning a bit before they caught.  "Will you two be alright out here?  The tow-truck guy said he'd be out around seven-thirty—"  He eyed their half-awake faces and nodded.  "Guess you two'll be catching a nap, then.  Oyasume, Takagi-san; nice working with you, even if you __*do* smell like—"  _

Takagi briefly shot him a dirty look as he closed his car door and the younger officer laughed before grinning down at the shortest member of the party.  "And hey, Conan-kun?"  The sleepy-eyed little boy blinked up at him, not having to fake his drowsy act at all.  "When you get big enough to join the Force, look me up, okay?  You're one smart little guy."  

Detective Mufune hesitated, a little unsureness creeping into his expression; Takagi felt his radar suddenly come back online and he saw Conan's shoulders stiffen as well.  "Back there in that café, I could *almost* swear I heard you talking sort of like a—well, you sounded a lot _older_, that's all."  He shook his head, bemused; "Must've been wishful thinking—It's been a long night."

"You can say _that_ again," muttered the boy in a heartfelt (and very, very quiet) tone as he hunched down on the seat beside Takagi and peered past him, waving.  "Bye, Mufune-keiji!" he chirped.  Takagi settled for a tired smile and a nod as the car-window rolled back up and the vehicle slowly headed down the gravel road towards the highway.  

"Takagi?"

"Hm?" answered the detective absentmindedly; there was something niggling at the back of his thoughts, something he had forgotten…..  What was it?  Something important that he should have just done—

-- something to do with the fact that his feet were feeling a bit cold and damp, with how he had carefully stepped from one vehicle to the other without more than a couple of steps on the wet ground--

"Takagi?  You… _DO_ realize he drove away with our shoes still in his trunk, don't you?"

_Aaargh_._  Takagi leaned forward and banged his head on the steering wheel a few times; it felt soothing, somehow.  "Let's just pretend that didn't happen, okay?  We can get them back from him later—"_

The little boy with the young man's eyes laughed beneath his breath and nodded.  "Uh huh….. Wonder what his trunk will smell like in a few days?"

Takagi brightened.  "Yeah….."

Which (considering Mufune's snickers regarding their personal aromas) wasn't really too bad a thought to bear in mind as they both settled down to nap until sunrise.

***********************************************

Birdsong was really not a nice thing to wake up to when you had a hangover; it really wasn't.  Detective Sato Miwako groaned as the first horrible, evil, brain-destroying rays of sunlight pierced through the rain-wet windows and set her eyes on fire.  Light was worse than the birdsong…..

_*Moan…..  Somebody just shoot me now, okay?*  Beside_ her Ran-kun made a muffled sort of "aaargh" noise and buried her head ever further in her pillowing arms.  In the front seat the taxi-driver snored horribly, almost drowning out the birds.  Why his snores hadn't bothered either Ran nor herself Sato had no clue; it was just one of those things.

Maybe a little fresh air would help—the rain had finally stopped, though droplets still ran down the glass from the puddled taxi-roof.  As stealthily as possible Sato eased the door open, trying not to wake her companion; but Ran simply slid slowly over in an extended huddle onto the rest of the car-seat, curling around her purse in an improbable pose and muttering something that sounded like "….mumble mumble don't *_wanna*_ ride the pony mumble mumble….."

That was fine with Sato.  Shielding her eyes from the hateful and too-damned-bright sunlight, the detective closed the door quietly and spent a few minutes leaning against the car and getting her bearings.  _*Let's see….. house keys.  If I dropped them where I think I did they're in the parking lot on the other side of the cemetery.  Might as well deal with that now—and—I should stop by Matsuda-kun's marker one more time.*_

_*I need to say goodbye.  Maybe more than I did yesterday—*_

Slowly, careful of both the soggy ground underfoot and her aching head, Sato Miwako opened the cemetery gate and began to make her way through the damp morning towards a part of her past. 

***********************************************

The voice summoning Takagi Wataru out of the depths of sleep was, regrettably, not one that he wanted to hear... but it wasn't one he could ignore, either.  Mother Nature had picked that time to call.

With a groan and a few muttered words about too much coffee, too many hours and the current lack of bathrooms, the detective pushed his car-door open and staggered out into the morning light—only to land with a cold, mud-slick _**SPLORCH** in his sock-clad feet on the muddy gravel of the parking lot._

_*RRRGH!!  COLD!!!*_

_*Blargh.  Nature really IS a mother…..*_  He staggered slowly off into the copse of trees and underbrush outside the cemetery fence to take care of matters as circumspectly as was possible.  A few minutes later (and feeling much better), Takagi splooshed his way back to the car, wondering if he should strip his muddy socks off before climbing back in.  The world seemed to be conspiring to remove his footwear for some reason; someday he would probably figure the whole reason behind that out, but at the moment it was all just a pain in the ass.  Or the feet.  Or somewhere.

_*Blargh.*  Takagi_ wasn't especially much of a Morning Person.  He stared moodily down at his cold, wet feet and sighed.

But as he reached for the door-handle, something—some flicker of movement, it looked like, back quite a ways in the cemetery—caught his eye.  _*Mmph?  Somebody there?*_

_*Somebody with a towel, maybe?  Or dry socks?  Better go check--*_   Yeah, that was definitely a human figure in the distance; he could just make them out between the markers and trees.

Conan was still sleeping the sleep of the exhausted; the poor kid ('the poor guy', Takagi corrected himself) was probably worn to a thread, all things considered.  His smeared, sleeping face and disheveled hair made him look more like the child he was supposed to be than ever, all traces of his real age having been utterly stolen away by weariness.

Takagi half-smiled; _*Let him sleep.  You're a big, bad, grown-up cop, Takagi-keiji; you can check this out on your own.*  _Making sure that all the important bits were zipped and buttoned properly, the detective trudged squelchingly through the gate and into the place where everything had begun the night before…..

***********************************************

"Hello, Matsuda-kun.  It's me again."

The marker for Matsuda Jinpei, former partner of one Detective Sato Miwako, looked oddly clean in the cool morning light; the occasional scrap of soaked leaf clung here and there, but the stone glistened with condensation and rain as if it had just been polished.  Sato stared expressionlessly at the reminder of what might have been, had things turned out differently; if Matsuda-kun had lived, would things have been better for her?  Worse?  Much the same?  How could she ever know…?

Well, she couldn't—there was no way to tell and never had been since the beginning of the world; you could _guess_, but might-have-beens were a lousy substitute for the real world.  You could grow awfully hungry, trying to live on might-have-beens.

That's what she had been doing, she supposed absently as she leaned down to brush away an errant twig from where the name had been carved:  living on might-have-beens, trying to subsist on maybe-memories and suppositions.  And Sato Miwako had managed okay, really she had….. for someone who had been slowly starving her heart to death for three long years.

"You'd have called me an idiot for that, wouldn't you have, Matsuda-kun?  And laughed at me too; I wonder if you and your old partner Hagiwara-kun ever get together wherever you are and talk about how stupid I've been, to—to refuse what's been in front of me for so long?"  Sato wiped at her eyes; they stung, and not just from the hangover or the long night behind her.  "Matsuda-kun?  I wish you could meet Takagi…..  I think you'd like him, I really do.  You'd probably think he's too polite and all that, or that maybe he doesn't put himself forward enough, like Shiratori-kun does—"

The cool breeze slid around her in the quiet cemetery, flickering through her tangled, damp hair like mischievous fingers; Sato could almost hear words in it.  She shook the fancy aside, trying not to let herself get carried away—the dead didn't come back to tell you advice, not really… and besides, if Matsuda-kun _*had* managed to return, he would have probably been in search of a beer and a good place to put his feet up, not a heart-to-heart talk about relationships._

He _*would*_ have called her an idiot.  And then, maybe, if things could have been different….. things WOULD have been different.  But they weren't, and they wouldn't be, and they couldn't be.

"I… like him, Matsuda-kun; I really do.  I—think I could love him.  I like the way he does his job; he has compassion, but he does what he has to… just like _you_ did.  I like the way he laughs about the stupidest things and blushes so easily… I like… how he likes *me*.  Takagi—and you know, maybe I really am an idiot, because I never think of him by his first name—he's just, just _Takagi."  She laughed to herself (and for anyone else who might be listening, however improbable that was.)  "When he's with me, things are better; when he's not….. the whole world is out of sync, just a little; just enough."_

Another gust wind made her shiver in her thin, skimpy outfit; Sato hugged her arms close around her as it slipped past.

"And you know what?  I'm _tired of being alone; it really gets old after a while.  First I lost my father and—and then I lost you before we could really ever get started.  I'm _tired,_ Matsuda-kun; tired of being afraid to reach out and tired of starving when I don't have to."  _

Sato drew a deep, cleansing breath of the morning, letting something inside her loosen that she hadn't even known had been knotted, freeing it at last.  "You'd laugh at me, but I guess I'm—ready to turn around, ready to start walking forward and to stop looking back."

"I guess I'm ready to let you go."

The breeze died away, leaving a stillness behind that seemed to encase the entire world for a split-second in silence.  And in that stillness she almost thought—she could almost *swear*—there were _words_ in the silence, familiar and amused and laconic and very, very far away:

_took__ you long enough; so turn and look behind you, dummy—_

and she did—

* * * * *

What do you do when you're suddenly given something you've wanted so **_badly_ that you've lost all hope whatsoever of getting it?**

Well, first off, you lose the powers of *speech,* apparently.  Standing at the edge of the path about four meters behind Sato, Takagi hadn't the faintest idea of what to say.  All he could do was blink at her, feeling like the soggy ground beneath his feet had just crumbled and disappeared.

Sato-san was a mess.  Her hair was sticking up in odd directions, her eyes were—yeah, they _*were*_ bloodshot, and she seemed to be wearing something very odd and skimpy that took Takagi RIGHT back to that assignment where she had played bait for an assailant that attacked prostitutes—

He immediately squashed that thought, or tried to.  But he couldn't help but notice that she looked awfully good in a skirt that short, and—WHAT the hell was she DOING in the cemetery anyway, dressed in a—uhhh---?  It was almost enough to distract him from what she had just been saying about….. him…..

Takagi's brain fused at this point, but he couldn't help but notice that Sato had legs.  It was funny, he had _seen her in skirts plenty of times but all of a sudden she— and her eyes, bloodshot or not, were so enormous that he could fall right into them and never come out…..  and WHAT the hell was HE doing, thinking about that???  Shouldn't he be saying something about the conversation he had just overheard?  He wanted to, but none of his grey cells seemed to be working very well at the moment._

Sato really *did* have beautiful eyes.

"Do you really?" he heard himself asking.  Funny, his mouth seemed to be operating on its own—

"W-what?"  Sato-san brushed a straggle of hair back; she had grown very pale except for two red spots high on each cheekbone.  "Do I r-really what?"

"Um….. _LIKE_ me.  Love me.  You said—"  Takagi ground to a halt; apparently there weren't any words in his native tongue that were up to handling situations like this.  _*Dammit,*_ he thought hazily, _*I knew I should've taken that refresher course in English--*_

The red spots on his partner's face were spreading, or maybe they were just being joined by the blush that seemed to be creeping from her neckline (and Takagi wrenched his eyes upwards at this point) and heading higher; she was becoming a sort of rose-color all over.

That looked beautiful too.

"I….. "  She seemed to be as tongue-tied as he was, but she had been talking so easily only a minute or so before—  and now she took a deep breath, wetting her lips as though they had gone dry on her.  "Yes.  Yes I do.  I mean--  I-----"

Later on, Takagi would have been hard pressed to explain what happened just then; Sato had just been standing there, her hands balled tightly into fists as she tried to say something that just wouldn't come out---- and then all of a sudden she had _*stumbled,*_ staggering forward and losing her balance almost as if she had been pushed from behind-----

Takagi found himself crossing the few meters between them without a thought, pulled like someone had shoved _him_ from behind (except that he didn't need any such impetus, no problems with that at all).  He was right there, catching his partner by the black silk-clad shoulders as she headed nose-first for the soggy gravel and helping her to straighten…..

….. and her face was right before his own, with her wide, dark eyes only inches from his and they were so full of something that looked like astonishment but was so very much, much _warmer—_

His partner's hands came up then, and it was just like before in the alley when they had caught the Tokyo Bomber; they cradled his face on either side of his cheekbones and drew him down to where he needed to be, his arms wrapping tightly around Sato's waist as he closed his eyes in surrender.  The kiss that followed didn't seem to be a new thing for either of them, somehow, but a continuation of what had almost come before…..

….. of what had been going on _*all the time since then* inside of their minds._

It seemed to last almost that long, too, like the deep breath a runner takes after the end of a race is finally reached at long last.  When they drew back a little, catching their breaths, it was only to lean against each other again (just like they always had as partners and as friends, trusting in each other's strengths) with Takagi's chin resting on top of Sato's head.  Her cheek lay against his shoulder; it seemed to fit there very easily.

They both seemed to fit against each other so _well,_ in fact, that it seemed strange that it had taken them so long to find it out.

So of course, it was only natural to explore this odd fact and to try the whole kiss thing again, and again, and _again….._ until they got it right.  And if that took a little time, well, that was okay.  They had plenty of time to work on it together.

They _*were*_ partners, after all.

* * * * *

The breeze slipped beyond the two figures; it swirled the leaves underfoot into little drifts that spiraled up, hung suspended, and then flattened out one after another.  It walked past them in the way that errant gusts of wind can, almost looking as if unseen feet were scuffing the ground before it died out altogether at the edge of the path that led out through the cemetery gate.

_take__ care of yourselves, you two; and Takagi-san?  When she calls you an idiot, pay attention; she's usually right._

And then the leaves lay still on the sodden gravel walkway, and the only sound to be heard among the markers was birdsong.

* * * * *

"Takagi?"

"Hmm?"  He smiled against her hair, noticing somewhere behind the fizzing haze of happiness that his feet didn't seem to be feeling so chilly anymore.  _Everything_ seemed to feel better—warmer, at least.

"… _WHY_ are you so wet?  And where are your shoes?"

"……………"

"……..and… did you know that you lost your wallet?"

_*Ooogh.*  "_…..You found it?"  The gods *were* smiling on him that morning.  Now if she just didn't ask about—

"Yeah, I did…….  Takagi?  I hate to ask this, especially now, but….. WHY do you smell like—"

_*Crap.*  He_ sighed, holding her a little closer as he took an experimental sniff.  Damn, he could still smell it even without his shoes; his pants-legs must have gotten a liberal coating.  Huh; funny, though—there were a lot of _other_ odors too, and they were coming from…..

"Sato-san?  Before I answer that, why on earth do you smell like—like—"

"—food?"

"…..Uh huh; hoisin sauce…… and oyster sauce…….. and something with red peppers in it….. and onions……. and—beer?  And-- *why* are you wearing that….. that….."

He felt her arms tighten just a bit, one hand smoothing his unruly hair and gently tangling in the strands just behind his neck.  "You don't like it?" she murmured, amusement and embarrassment fighting it out in her voice.

"….I, uh….. you look……"  She was laughing at him; he could tell.  Takagi gave up.  "Sato-san?  I've got an idea:  I won't ask you about *your* night if you don't ask me about *mine,* okay?"

Still chuckling, she nodded against his shoulder.  "I'm going to have to tell you about some of it, though; I lost two sets of handcuffs."  Takagi's eyebrows rose as she continued cheerfully.  "There's a would-be thief cuffed to a bolted-down table in a café not really too far from here, and I left a mugger chained to a street-sign a little ways past the edge of town."

Now his eyebrows really WERE up.  "Sounds like you and Ran-kun had a busy night.  Is she still with you?" 

"Mmm-hmm; in the back of the taxi." He could feel her smile against his shoulder; the warmth flooded through him all over again as her fingers gently stroked the nape of his neck.  "She's asleep."

"Yeah?  Conan's asleep in my car too—we had a pretty busy night ourselves.  Caught a murderer."  _THAT_ got her attention; she would have pulled away and looked up into his face if one of his hands hadn't suddenly smoothed gently down the length of her spine, making her shift a little closer instead.  "Don't worry, Sato-san; I'll tell you the rest later….."

She was still smiling; he could tell that too.  "Takagi?  Don't you think you can stop calling me 'san'?  I mean, we've been partners for a long time now, and—um—"

He chuckled, almost giddy with happiness.  "I don't know……  Are you sure we know each other that well?  I mean, remember how you said that you wanted us to just stay friends?  I wouldn't want to impose on our friendship—"

"—Takagi—"  She sounded ever so slightly annoyed.

"—and dropping an honorific, that's a big step, isn't it?"  He fought down a wave of laughter that kept wanting to sneak out, continuing on blithely.  "I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable or anything—"

_"--TAKAGI—"  Yeah_; definitely annoyed.

"—and besides, what if *I* don't feel like we're close enough friends for that?  I just don't know; maybe instead we ought to **_MMPHhh_****_!__……..._mmmmm___….."_**

Teasing detectives, Takagi was finding, seemed to produce wonderful results.  This looked like it could be the beginning of a long and beautiful friendship…..

* * * * *

On either side of the cemetery, two watching figures drew back a little, not wanting to intrude.  Mouri Ran tugged her thin silk jacket a little tighter around her shoulders as she saw Conan's jaw drop; she couldn't quite tell the rest of his expression—they were too far apart for that—but it occurred to her that it was a good thing he wasn't any older or she'd be having to answer some awkward questions about her current outfit.

As she beckoned for him to swing around to one side of the embracing pair of detectives and follow her, she yawned; Ran had awakened just in time to see Sato close the gate behind her.  It had taken a few minutes for the young woman to shake sleep off enough to follow…  It was just as well, from the looks of things.  About *time* too, she thought fondly, smiling.

A crunch of leaves announced Conan's arrival just behind her; she turned around, feeling rather self-conscious in her scrap of a skirt.  _*Thank God he can't see the tattoo…  Is he okay?  His eyes are absolutely bugging out—*  "_Conan-kun?  Are you alright?"  And THEN she took in his appearance, which was… awful.  His hair looked like someone had dunked his head in syrup and then attacked it with a set of mixers; the small face was smeared and grimy, he seemed to be rather damp and was absolutely enveloped in some sort of ragged jacket-looking garment—and for some reason he wasn't wearing any *shoes* and he—

She sniffed.

Fish, OLD fish—and cow… manure.  "Conan?  WHAT happened to you?"

He still wasn't saying anything; his dark blue eyes seemed to have glazed over slightly and were tracing a path from her head to her toes over and over and over--  "Conan-kun?  Are you alright, Conan-kun?  Say something!"  _*Where in the world did Takagi-san take him?!?  I ought to—"_

….. and then she thought of just where SHE had been during the previous night, and the company she had kept….. and then there was the tattoo…..

He seemed to be coming out of his little trance.  "Uh… uh….. R-Ran?  Neechan, I mean?  That's an… interesting outfit.  *Why* do you smell like a restaurant… with a bar in it?"  He seemed to be turning rather pink, and he reached hastily up to pinch the bridge of his nose as if to stop a nosebleed.  Maybe the poor kid had caught a cold and had the sniffles; he _was awfully damp….._

She attempted a smile, glad to see her Conan-kun no matter what he smelled like.  "Tell you what; we'll both go back to the apartment, take showers, change clothes, and then we won't have to worry about what either of us look or smell like… or where we've been, okay?"

"Um……. Okay.  Maybe that'd be a good idea."  He seemed to be having a hard time with those sniffles…..

Ran sighed, stealing a glance back at the couple that still stood together in the center of the cemetery.  From a distance, Takagi reminded her of Shinichi a little; he had that straightness of posture, and the way his hair got all windblown was similar…..

"Ran-neechan?  What are you thinking about?" the small voice asked from beside her as she unlatched the gate.

She ushered him through.  "Just… things.  People and things.  Well," she amended, seeing the question in his eyes, "Shinichi, really… and relationships."

Ran could hear him swallow hard; he was always so concerned about her and Shinichi-kun for some reason.  "…Relationships?...  You and Shinichi-niisan have a, a relationship—don't you?"

The young woman opened the door to the taxi; the driver was still snoring away.  "I guess we do, but—I think I need to talk to Shinichi about that the next time he calls.  It's been so long since I've seen him….."  She smiled down sadly at the top of the boy's scruffy head.  "I—don't want him to think I've forgotten him, no matter how long it takes before he can come back.  But you know what, Conan-kun?  I need to know that *he* hasn't forgotten me TOO."

"….. oh….."

The detective's daughter slid into the backseat after him, stifling another yawn.  The boy seemed to be awfully quiet (and seemed to have gotten his sniffles under control as well; that was good) as she continued.  "When he calls, we talk….. but not enough.  I *miss* him, you know… I really do.  If he calls when I'm not there, you be sure and tell him that, okay?"

"….. okay.  I will….."

There had been a time, some months before, when Ran had found herself thinking some very, very strange and wild ideas regarding Shinichi's disappearance and Conan's appearance; sometimes she had almost thought that…..

….. but _no._  She shook her head inwardly; for the moment, at least, she was pretty sure that she had been wrong.

Pretty sure.

Almost certain, in fact.

Almost.

"Ran-neechan?"  Conan was looking at her inquiringly; his small, rather dirty face looked a little sad and wary under the smears, and she reached across to smooth the hair back from his brow as he stared up at her.  "Shinichi-niisan misses you too.  I know he does."

At that she sighed, leaning back against the seat and allowing her eyes to droop closed.  She was so tired…..  "Then why doesn't he SAY so?  He's such an idiot sometimes….."

And the little-boy voice agreed with her softly, ruefully.  "He is, isn't he?  He really is."

At that she chuckled and turned her head to regard him, opening her eyes; he stared solemnly back, and she reached over impulsively to hug him tightly to her as if he had been a warm, rather smelly teddy-bear.  "Never mind, Conan-kun; it'll all work out."  From over the tousled head that suddenly bent itself closer into the crook of her arm she could see the distant silhouette of Takagi and Sato, still together in the middle of the cemetery; she smiled, closing her eyes. 

 "It'll all work out.  It always _does,_ somehow."

Conan-kun said nothing; he simply curled up close against her, his face averted.  And that's how they stayed as they each drifted off, sound asleep and taking comfort in each other's familiar warmth.

* * * * *

The other taxi arrived an hour or so later; Ran woke up just enough to give her address, then curled back up around Conan and drowsed during the entire trip back.  At one point they ran over a bump in the road and she roused slightly.  "….. zzzzzzzzzz….. _Mrmmmph__?"___

The warm weight against her side snuggled a little tighter, arms clasping around her waist.  "G'back to sleep, Ran—"

She sighed and allowed herself to sink back into the depths of sleep, never quite waking up.  "Okay, Sh'nichi….."

"…..zzzzzzzzzz….."

* * * * *

All stories have loose ends; this one was no exception.

Most of the other bus-passengers made it home safely and without undue problems; their lives continued normally….. except for the three gaijin girls, who finally DID manage to make it to the old ruined Shunokeru temple in the hills above Tokyo (despite the rather desperate warnings of the locals, who frantically waved their arms and pointed at the rising full moon in warning).  Later on, strange flashes of light were seen coming from the ruins accompanied by terrible screams_ ("I *TOLD* you not to open that!!  WHY did you open that?  No, no, NEVER pick up anything that glows— Aaiiieeeee!!!");_ the locals shook their heads wisely the next day, knowing that the three would never be seen again (outside of the occasional sticky red patch, the bloodstained sketchpad and the bones that would surface among the rocks several days later).  However, the villagers told themselves, the three young women HAD been anime fans; one might possibly consider the thought that this was, really, the way that they would have preferred to go.

Conan and Takagi would both mysteriously manage to miss seeing any mention of this in the newspapers over the next few weeks.  The ruins were eventually bought by a quite secretive military organization which bulldozed over them and built a high-security underground facility surrounded by a very tall fence.  Occasionally strange noises were heard at night there, especially during a full moon…..

But that's a story for another time.

Detectives Takagi and Sato eventually managed to make their way back to the stationhouse after a ride in a towtruck, some hot (or possibly cold) showers and two changes of clothes; Takagi managed to get his shoes back….. eventually.  And Mufune managed to get the smell out, too….. eventually.

Their new relationship (Takagi's and Sato's, not Takagi's and Mufune's) did *not* go unnoticed.  In fact, Detective Takagi's male co-workers went quite ballistic for a little while, making his life a living hell and causing him to be seen increasing his life insurance benefits with a curiously hunted look on his face.  That look, however, eased when Sato came into view; in fact, they both noticeably seemed to be a lot happier than before, and eventually the pressure from Takagi's fellow cops lightened.

Not before giving him a few very, _very_ bad moments, however…..

A good part of the tension let up when Sato's best friend Miyamoto Yumi started a betting-pool concerning just how long it would take for one of them to pop the question (and just which one would do it; the odds ran highest in Sato's favor but Takagi was steadily gaining as time passed and he grew more self-confident.)  It was notable if a bit puzzling that, after the two of them had spent a week-long undercover assignment posing as a married couple in a resort, they would both blush and begin to grin sheepishly every time anyone mentioned the word "handcuffs."

Shiratori-san sulked.  

Megure-san beamed a lot beneath his moustache.

Ran and Conan's lives went back to as close as normal as was possible…..  Conan got a completely accidental glimpse of Ran's tattoo during a trip to the beach, nearly drowned and would periodically go red and tongue-tied when she spoke to him for quite a while thereafter.   To make matters unutterably worse, Hattori Heiji happened to be along on the same beach trip, saw it too and ribbed him unmercifully for a very, very long time.

Yamashii Tora died three nights before his arraignment of a heart attack in his sleep.

……..and a day or so after everyone had made it back safely, Mouri Ran picked up the buzzing phone receiver in her and her father's apartment.  "Moshi moshi, Mouri Detective Agency—"

_"Ran?"_

"Shinichi?"  She felt a shy smile steal across her face, then bit her lip as she began to gather her courage.  "I was hoping that you were going to call—"

She could almost hear him smile back from his end of the line_; "I'm sorry; I don't call enough, do I?  And….. um, well…..  I've been kind of thinking about—well….."_

She waited, puzzlement creeping in.  Shinichi sounded almost—hesitant? nervous?  "About what?"

_"…… you, actually."___

Her eyes went wide.  "Really?  Me?  Why?"

On the other end of the phone line he gulped; she could hear it clearly.  _"……um……. Well, I…. sort of miss you, you know?"_

The detective's daughter nearly dropped the phone in shock.  Recovering, she felt a warm tingle sweep through her heart and began to smile as she sank down on the couch, clutching the receiver.  

"Really?  Why don't you tell me about it?" she teased…..  

If Ran thought she had been able to hear him smile over the phone, she could *certainly* hear him beginning to sweat; somehow, though, it didn't bother her at all as Shinichi began to reply rather shyly from wherever he was.  Momo-san had said it, and Momo-san was right; sometimes you just needed to talk to each other. 

Things were looking up.

*****************************************************************************************************************************

_OWARI_

_YSABET'S NOTES__:  Hi again!  Sorry this took so long, but I figured that if I posted the fourth chapter without the epilogue you'd all lynch me… and with good reason, seeing how much they're tied together.  So—did it work out alright?  This was my first real crime-and-punishment murder mystery; it was hellaciously difficult (I had to stick to a timeline so everybody'd meet up back in the right place at the right moments too) and y'all would not BELIEVE how many notes I wrote while doing this thing.  Do you know, you have to work out murder mysteries *backwards*??  It's very odd, but also very addictive; got another one in mind, possibly titled "Blowing Out the Candles".  Later, though…… I wanna work on Windfall!_

_I finally got Takagi and Sato to kiss.  I have been thinking about that damned scene for MONTHS; I feel *so* much better now…..  I didn't expect her old partner to stick his nose back in like that, but he just sort of insisted—and who was I to say no, after all?  Besides, Takagi and Sato needed a little nudge.  As for Ran and Conan, a nudge in *their* cases wasn't such a bad idea either.  Hope nobody got too offended by the tattoos….. **sticks out tongue**_

_Many thanks, by the way, to the Three Gaijin Tourist Girls, who got roped into their untimely deaths because they teased me about something so many months ago that NONE of us can remember what it was— we all just recall that I promised to kill them off gruesomely in a fic!  They are as follows:  Hauntress (the Voice of Reason); Magik (the Artistic Type); and Icka (the Genki One).  Thanks for not killing me too, y'all!..........  Y'all?  Um, y'all?  Hello?  Hauntress?  Magik?  Icka?  Why are you all looking at me like that?  Uh oh……_

_Um, right.  Anyway.  Also huge heaps of thanks to Becky Tailweaver, Loqui and Morgan for proofreading this monster…..  It's SO hard to remember all the damned details sometimes!  Oh, and by the way, can anybody out there spot all the jokes in the names?  There are a few—there are ALWAYS some in my fics.  Yamashii, Momo Joen…. Shunokeru….. a few others as well.  **grins**_

_Let's see, one or two last things……  You can read about fingernail-marks and related health problems at http://wi.essortment.com/fingernailsnutr_rjbo.htm.  You can also find stuff on Apitherapy (venom treatments of arthritis and other ailments) at http://www2.primushost.com/~spectrum/apitherapy.html.  Oh, and by the way:  I'm allergic to bee-stings.  Totally terrified of bees, too; I hate the little buggers and will run like hell when they come near me.  So what happens to me while I'm working on this story?  One fell from an overhang above me while I was camping a couple of months back and dropped RIGHT down my cleavage, stinging me upon arrival.  Time for benedryl and lots of sting-ointment…..  So it goes._

_See y'all later!  **Ysabet climbs on Metro bus and rides off into the sunset, looking nervously around for bees**_


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